Love Doesn't Ask Why
by KrissyCaits
Summary: There are a lot of different ways a person can say "I love you." In fact, there are at least 100 ways. This is a collection of one shots featuring all the people in Sharon's life, past and present, and how they love her. When completed, there will be 100 in total.
1. (Andy Flynn)

**Summary:** There are a lot of different ways a person can say "I love you." In fact, there are at least 100 ways. This is a collection of one shots featuring all the people in Sharon's life, past and present, and how they love her.

 **Rating:** T

 **Note:** The 100 Ways prompt list can be found on Tumblr or Twitter. Each one shot is a little stand alone story, a snippet of Sharon's life. The idea is to explore how all the people around her love her; her children, her family, her lover, her co-workers. The one shots do not follow a set timeline and are all different.

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 _~()~_

 _Love doesn't ask why_  
 _It speaks from the heart_  
 _And never explains_  
 _Don't you know that_  
 _Love doesn't think twice_  
 _It can come all at once_  
 _Or whisper from a distance_

 _~ Celine Dion; Love Doesn't Ask Why_

 _~()~_

 **1\. "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."**

The weekend had been long and intense and they had walked more miles in the last three days than they probably had in the whole of the previous month. Sharon could feel muscles in places she'd never even known she had them and she was eternally grateful she had packed sensible shoes. San Francisco had been full of surprises, in more ways than one, and until this weekend, Sharon had never realised just how much there was to see in the city and the surrounding areas. And this weekend was the first time where she finally not only got to see the Golden Gate Bridge but walk on it too.

The sun was starting to set, painting the skies in fiery shades of amber and red, and the traffic on the road seemed to have died down in the last hour or so. According to the navigation, it would take them another three hours before they reached Los Angeles. They were hallway through their journey.

It had been Ricky's suggestion for her and Andy to come down. The offer had been unexpected and it wasn't until they got to San Francisco that Sharon realised Ricky had asked her and Andy to come down because he wanted them to meet his girlfriend. Jennifer was a few years younger than Ricky but had a two year old daughter from a previous relationship. Seeing her son sit with a child on his lap when they first went for lunch had been startling and throughout the weekend, Sharon got to see Ricky in a whole different light.

Sharon's shoulders were sore and she shifted a little behind the wheel, readjusting the position of her hands. She leaned back a little, turned her neck to help ease some of the tension she felt. She reached for the water bottle but when she picked it up she found it was empty. She let out a sigh.

"Sharon, are you alright?" Andy asked.

"I'm fine," Sharon reassured him. "Just thirsty."

"Take mine," Andy said and handed Sharon his bottle. He studied her a little more closely, noticed the way her shoulders seemed tense and her fingers clutched the wheel a little too tightly to be comfortable.

Sharon had insisted on driving back because Andy had driven most of the journey from LA to San Francisco. The idea of the road trip appealed and they had stopped off at a little road side diner for dinner which had turned out to be a beautiful experience as all the food was home cooked and freshly prepared. They'd stopped to admire the view and drink coffee and Sharon, when they started the journey home, wouldn't accept Andy driving the car again.

She wasn't a big fan of driving and only did it when absolutely required. It was useful to get around the city with a car but the busy traffic and people's attitudes made her more reluctant to drive.

Andy looked ahead and saw a familiar looking sign. The SevenEleven gas station was only a few hundred yards away and he put a hand on Sharon's knee drawing her attention. She shot him a sideways glance and he could see the tiredness in her eyes.

"Pull over. Let me drive for a while," Andy said and pointed at the gas station ahead. "We'll get something to drink there, maybe something to eat and I'll drive the rest of the way home."

Accepting that she was tired wasn't Sharon's strong suit but she pulled into the gas station anyway and switched off the engine. She got out of the car and her breath was robbed away by the dry heat. The car's aircon had lulled her into a false sense of security but now that she stood in the early evening air, she was reminded of just how hot it really was.

Andy got out of the car too and held the door to the little shop for Sharon as they walked in. The choice in food and drink was relatively minimal, and the clerk behind the counter looked about as high as a kite, but at least they got to stretch their legs before starting the second half of their journey. Andy picked some potato chips and two bottles of water whilst Sharon studied some of the magazines. He doubted she was really taking in any of the titles.

When he rejoined her, she turned to look at him. "I can't believe it. Ricky, Jennifer and little Alice." There was a hint of wonder in her voice. "He's taken to that little girl like she's his own. I could see it in his eyes."

Andy took Sharon's hand and linked their fingers. "Seems to be a family trait," he said softly. "Giving a new start and new home to those who need it most." His eyes found Sharon's. "Ricky learnt from the best."

Sharon flashed him a tired smile and they walked back to the car together. She gave Andy the keys and got into the passenger side. She waited for him to get in and they shared a look. Andy then leaned in, gently pressed his lips to Sharon's and kissed her. Soft, delicate and chaste… the way he knew she preferred it when she was tired. When he pulled back he was rewarded with a smile and he smiled back.

Sharon rested her head against the cool glass of the window as Andy started the engine. The aircon kicked back in, blasting away the dry heat that had clung to their skin and Sharon relaxed, fixing her eyes on the beautiful colours in the sky as she watched the sun disappear behind the horizon.


	2. (Louie Provenza)

**2\. "It reminded me of you"**

It was never going to be easy, that much she had guessed the moment she found out that Taylor had her in mind to take over from Chief Johnson. But even she had not expected her reception to be as frosty as it was; it was downright hostile. Sure, Amy Sykes was nice to her but Sykes had something to gain; she wanted the promotion to Major Crimes and she clearly had no trouble sucking up to Sharon to make it happen. The thought of an ally, even one who really was just out for her own gain, felt appealing so Sharon made the request for Sykes' transfer only on her second day.

Chief Johnson's departure had left a lot of unfinished business, least of all concerning young Rusty Beck. One look at the teenager had told Sharon that she needn't try send him back to another foster home or, worse, a group home. He was only going to abscond again. How she even got it in her head to take the boy home, she still didn't know. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was, as Rusty pointed out, little bit of selfishness because they needed him for the Stroh case. Either way, Sharon felt she was at least doing something right, even if Rusty vehemently disagreed,

The biggest hurdle appeared to be Lieutenant Provenza. Sharon knew from rumours that he had not been pleased with Chief Johnson's arrival either seven years ago but he had warmed to her rather quickly so there was still hope. Provenza had been with the LAPD since as long Sharon could remember, and she'd had a few run-ins with him and Lieutenant Andy Flynn in the years before crossing paths with Brenda Leigh Johnson. Grumpy and set in his ways, Sharon did have a certain amount of respect for the man.

When Sharon walked into the Murder Room that Tuesday morning, still somewhat reeling from Rusty's objections about wanting to send him to a Catholic school, she noticed that the entire Division was already sitting at their desk, including Amy Sykes. Knowing she was by no means late, Sharon paused in her step and turned to face the group of people.

"Good morning."

"Captain Raydor," Provenza said and Sharon detected the bitterness in his voice.

"Lieutenant," she smiled, keeping her face straight. All those years in Internal Affairs had taught her how to perfect her poker face when it mattered. "I see everyone is up bright and early." Green eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She was well aware of what Provenza's least favourite part of the job was aside from paperwork and seeing the opportunity that had presented itself, Sharon took it.

"I wasn't aware you were that keen on observing autopsies, Lieutenant, but since you're here so bright and early, I'm sure Doctor Morales would love to see you in the morgue."

Provenza rose up from his chair, straightened his shirt and gave Sharon a curd nod. "Of course." He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, swung it over his arm and then turned to face Sharon again. "Oh, by the way, Captain, I left something for you on your desk."

Sharon arched an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion settling in her chest. "Excuse me?"

"It reminded me of you," was all Provenza said and he waved before rounding the corner and leaving the Murder Room.

Turning on her heel, Sharon walked to her office and stepped inside. There, in the middle of her desk in the most godawful ceramic plant pot she had ever seen, stood a cactus. It was shaped rather well and it looked like it had some flowers coming in. Sure, the pot was ugly but the cactus was not.

"Why did you get her that one?" Flynn piped up behind her and when Sharon turned around she found both him and Provenza standing behind her. Clearly the older Lieutenant had decided against going down to the morgue just yet.

Flynn's grin widened. "Is it because it's prickly?"

Provenza considered saying something to counter Flynn's observation but he decided against it, choosing instead to look at Sharon with a smirk on his face. She met his eyes and in that moment she began to understand that the relationship she was going to have with this man would be a complicated one. It was his natural instinct to respect her but she knew he didn't like her and those two things would come into conflict. No matter how certain she was that the cactus was some kind of peace offering, a way to welcome her into Major Crimes, Sharon also knew Provenza was never going to admit it.

"Well, if you believe this cactus to be so prickly then maybe you should keep it on your own desk, Lieutenant," Sharon retorted and walked over to the desk, picked up the pot and placed it in Provenza's unsuspecting hands. She met his eyes and gave him a knowing smile. She was on to him and she wanted him to know. "And tell Doctor Morales I'll call him later. Have a good day, Lieutenant."

With that, Sharon closed the door.


	3. (Andrea Hobbs)

**Note:** Hey guys, thanks so much for the reviews, follows and favourites so far! We'll try and update these one shots as often as we can, usually one or two at a time because they're so short. Enjoy!

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 **3\. No, no. It's my treat**

Sharon wasn't the kind of woman who went out for drinks after a long day at work. She preferred going home, taking off her shoes and curling up on the couch with a cup of tea or a glass of wine and a book. Nothing about music or crowds or the lingering scent of alcohol appealed to her but there were days like today where she would stray from her usual routine. And that was how she found herself sharing a booth with Andrea Hobbs in a rather flashy bar in the middle of Hollywood.

They were surrounded by the young and the trendy; the up and coming high flyers in expensive suits and heels so high Sharon wondered how they could even walk in them. The bar served every brand of alcohol imaginable and the music was a mixture of low level beats and something she couldn't quite identify but sounded somewhat psychedelic.

"Of all the places, this is the one you had to pick?" Sharon asked as she put down her wineglass and studied Andrea from behind her glasses. It was hardly the kind of place she associated with the tough DDA. "You couldn't have picked the cop bar across the street from Parker Centre?"

"If I wanted to be surrounded by cops, I'd have opened a bottle of wine in the middle of your Murder Room," Andrea grinned. She looked around and wrinkled her nose a little. "This wasn't what I imagined when they said this place draws a crowd." She singled out a guy near the door. "I don't even think he's twenty-one yet!"

Sharon smiled. As much as their surroundings were a little odd, she couldn't deny there was something nice about being out and away from it all. The last three days she had spent sitting inside a court room hearing every gruesome detail from a man responsible for killing three teenaged boys solely for his own gratification. At the end of each day Sharon had felt like taking a long, hot shower but when Andrea suggested wine at the end of day three, she had blindly followed her.

"So, do you have any plans for Christmas?" Andrea asked.

Sharon looked at her incredulously. It was only August. "That's random."

"I'm trying to make small talk, Sharon," the blonde DDA grinned. "It's what people do when they go out with friends. You'd know that if you actually went out every once in a while." Blue eyes found green. "Well?"

"Emily and Ricky will fly to Los Angeles a few days before Christmas. I just hope Jack doesn't show up." Sharon tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Christmas was her favourite time of year but it was also always a reminder that her children's father was missing from their lives and whenever he was around, it was never in a way that could be described as good. "He is their father but his unexpected arrival always makes the holidays a little more complicated."

"My mom asked me if I was coming home this year, the same way she does every year. I said it depends on what cases I've got on but I'm thinking about it…" Andrea mused. Flying home meant catching a plane back to Tennessee. She wasn't looking forward to that during the winter holidays.

"How long has it been?"

"Since I saw my parents or since I spent Christmas with them?"

Sharon smiled at that. "Both."

"Two years since seeing them," Andrea answered. There was a hint of melancholy in her voice. "But it feels like ten some days."

"You should go," Sharon encouraged. Her own parents lived far away. Going to see them every year for Christmas was no longer viable and with her children now living further away too, the meaning of family had gotten all the more important to her.

"I've been looking at flights," Andrea replied and finished off her margarita before slamming the glass down on the table. The alcohol burnt down her throat. "If I can find some poor unsuspecting legal aid to take over for a couple of days, I may just go."

Sharon chuckled into her wine glass. "You do know that legal aids aren't meant to be used like that, right?"

Andrea arched an eyebrow. "Tell that to someone who cares." She went to stand up. "I'll go get us some more drinks."

"I'll buy the next round," Sharon interjected and reached for her purse under the table. When she looked back up, Andrea shook her head.

"No, no. It's my treat. You spent three days sitting in that courtroom listening to that asshole. The least I can do is ply you with alcohol so you won't be seeing his face in your dreams tonight." Andrea held Sharon's gaze for a moment longer. They both knew it didn't work like that. Alcohol was not a guarantee; the nightmares would come for them sooner or later anyway.

"Wine?" Andrea questioned, pointing at the now empty wine glass in front of Sharon. The older woman considered the request for a moment but then shook her head.

"I'll have what you're having." She looked at Andrea as she headed in the direction of the bar and then called after her, "Make it a double!"

Maye it wouldn't keep the nightmares at bay once she got to bed but it would at least make her smile for the rest of the night.


	4. (William O'Dwyer)

**4\. Come here. Let me fix it.**

She'd had the little jewellery box since she was six. It had been a Christmas present and every time she looked at it, Sharon still remembered that initial sense of joy. At first she'd kept whatever little treasures she believed worthy in it but as she got older, she started keeping her jewellery in it instead. Every time she opened it, the little ballerina inside would spin to the delicate tunes of The Nutcracker. Frail and a little weathered by the hands of time, the tiny little figurine had her hands raised above her head and one foot pulled up against her knee. As the music played, she spun and spun in perfect little pirouettes. She wore a pink little tutu that matched the ballerina shoes and the tiny little flower in her blonde hair.

The music box had moved with her wherever she went. College. Then the academy. Her first apartment. The home she and Jack bought and then left. The next apartment where she lived with Emily and Ricky as she tried to get her life back on track. And eventually the condo, the place she now called home.

It was Christmas Eve and the condo was alive with the hustle and bustle and voices of family. From her bedroom, Sharon could hear Emily and Ricky laughing, heard her father's booming voice as he told another anecdote from when he was young. Even though her children were in their twenties now, they never grew tired of hearing their grandfather speak about the days gone by.

Sharon pulled the light grey long sleeved sweater over her head, brushed her hair and then turned to the mirror. There, in its trusted spot behind her perfume bottles, stood the little music box and she reached for it. It didn't hold much of her jewellery anymore, she had an expensive stand for those things now, but it still had a few things inside. One of Emily's bracelets from when she was six. Ricky's first watch with a red leather strap and a Micky Mouse face behind the round glass. Her wedding ring that she hadn't worn in years and her grandmother's favourite rosary.

Sharon gently opened the lid, prepared to hear the by now so familiar tunes of The Nutcracker. But the little ballerina didn't spin and the dainty music didn't find her ears. Instead there was only silence and Sharon's heart ached a little when she looked down at the ballerina, frozen in time.

Sharon poked it softly with her index finger and she heard a couple of notes as the ballerina turned around a little. Sadness settled in her chest as she began emptying the box, leaving all the little treasures on her dresser, and turned it over. The light blue silk lining had worn and weathered over the years and the flowers painted on the outside of the box had faded but it was still in great condition. As she turned it over, Sharon looked for a way to fix it but to her frustration, she couldn't find anything.

She looked up when she heard her father's voice behind her. "Sharon? Is everything alright?"

She turned around and saw William O'Dwyer standing in the doorway of her bedroom. In his seventies now, he was still the handsome and tall man whose picture she kept on the sideboard in the living room. His hair had greyed and his face had wrinkled but he still had the same twinkling bright green eyes Sharon had been fortunate enough to inherit. He looked smart in his khaki pants and white button down shirt.

"Everything's fine, Dad," Sharon smiled and walked over to him, still with the music box in her hand. She showed it to him. "Do you remember this?"

Willian's eyes lit up as his daughter handed him the music box. "I can't believe you still have this. You must've been what, seven, when we you got this?"

"Six," she corrected him and for a single second she experienced a flash back to her younger self sitting by the Christmas tree on Christmas morning unwrapping her presents. The music box had been her most prized possession.

William gently opened the lid and looked inside the box. The ballerina still didn't spin. "Didn't this used to play music?"

"The Nutcracker. And until tonight, it did indeed play," Sharon answered. She reached to take the music box from her father's hands. She caught a glimpse of his golden wedding band. Her parents had been married for almost sixty years. Once she had hoped to achieve what they had but she'd soon learnt she wasn't going to get it.

"I think it's broken now."

She went to put it back on the dresser but her father called her back. Sharon turned around, music box still in hand. William's green eyes had fixed on his daughter and he spoke softly. "Come here. Let me fix it."

She remembered him talking to her in that same tone when she was eight and scraped her knee after she fell from the swing. Or when she was fifteen and Jonathan Dawson broke her heart by asking Judith Watson to the school dance instead. She walked across the bedroom and placed the box back in her father's hands. If someone had told her ten or twenty years ago she would be standing here in the bedroom of her own condo giving her music box to her father to be fixed, she'd have laughed at them.

"Go join your mother," William said and put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "If I'm not mistaken, Rusty is trying to get her to give up her egg nog recipe."

Sharon grinned. No one had ever managed to get that recipe out of Ruth O'Dwyer but Rusty wasn't just anybody and she feared that her mother might just cave under the keen journalist's questions. She left the bedroom and followed the sounds of voices and laughter back to the living room.

"Oh! There she is!" Ricky exclaimed.

Emily moved over on the couch so her mother could sit and the conversation picked back up. It turned out Rusty wasn't about to obtain the illustrious recipe but he had persuaded everyone to sing Christmas carols. And at the first notes of Silent Night, Sharon smiled.

When the song finished, something else caught her attention and Sharon's head snapped around when she recognised the delicate tunes of the Nutcracker Suite. There, behind the couch, stood her father, with the music box in his hand. The little ballerina was dancing again and the music sounded as perfect as it had always done. Sharon's eyes met those of her father and he smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Sharon."


	5. (Gus Wallace)

**Note:** Hey guys, we are so sorry for the delay. Both our lives have gotten a little busy (there's the understatement of the year) but we're getting back to writin and editing so we'll be back soon with more new updates!

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 **5\. "I'll walk you home."**

It was rare these days for Sharon to get the opportunity to go to Church. She missed going to Mass on Sundays when she was working, so walking down the street to the Church a couple of blocks from the condo felt liberating. Sharon clutched her bag a little tighter and smoothed out the invisible creases in her green dress. She'd bought it a few weeks ago and today was the first time she wore it.

Sharon shot a sideways glance at her companion. Rusty wasn't one for going to Church and Sharon couldn't blame him. He came with her when she wanted him to but she also knew sometimes Rusty felt like he owed it to her to come. It had taken a while before Rusty had realised that he was allowed to say no and this morning he had. The fact that Gus had then offered to accompany her instead had come as a surprise but now that they were walking down the street, Sharon was glad he had.

"How long has it been?" Sharon carefully inquired. Ahead of them the Church, St Joseph's, loomed up. The big wooden doors stood wide open, inviting the faithful to Mass.

Gus looked at her. Sharon could see the faint glimmer of a distant memory in his eyes. "A few months."

She detected the hint of sadness in his voice and she wondered if the loss of his sister was what had driven him back to Church. Saying no more, Sharon accepted Gus' kind gesture to walk through the Church's doors first and they found themselves a seat in the middle isle. Except for two elderly ladies, the pew was empty but the surrounding ones were slowly filling up.

Sharon looked down at her hands. Her faith had been her steady guide throughout her life; her source for answers about right and wrong, about justice and forgiveness. It had been what had held her family together when she and Jack drifted apart, what formed the stable foundation for Emily and Ricky and later Rusty when she sent them to Catholic school. It was what had formed the base of her own upbringing, the love she'd felt as a little girl. It had been the one constant in her life that had never let her down; the one place where she could always come back to.

Mass itself lasted a little over an hour and Sharon listened to every word. For a little while she found herself in a place away from crime scenes and autopsies and murder. About half way through the service she looked at Gus from the corner of her eye and saw him shift in his seat. As the minutes ticked by, he relaxed more and more and when she saw the first hints of a smile appear, Sharon smiled too.

When the time came to leave, and the doors had opened to invite the bright Sunday afternoon sunshine into the Church, Sharon was one of the last to rise and leave her seat. She found herself momentarily mesmerised by the stained glass windows, the way the sunlight caused the colours to dance across the Church's marble floor, and when she finally tore her eyes way, she found Gus looking at her. He smiled, having caught her watching the lights.

"Thank you," he said as he slipped out of the seat to make room for Sharon to stand. The sincerity in his voice was touching. "Thank you for letting me come with you today."

"It was my pleasure," Sharon answered. She put a hand on his shoulder, met his dark brown eyes. "I sometimes forget how you came to be part of our lives. I hope that maybe by doing this, you find something you'd thought you lost."

Gus held her gaze. "Did you?"

Sharon looked over her shoulder at the now empty pews behind her. "Most of the time, yes."

Gus linked his arm through Sharon's as they headed towards the door. They walked slowly, almost as if reluctant to leave this little sanctuary they found themselves in. When they stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine, Gus turned to look at her.

"I'm meeting Rusty for coffee in this place two blocks from here but not for another half an hour." He smiled. "I'll walk you home."

"Thank you," Sharon smiled and tightened her grip on Gus' arm a little.

They walked in silence for a little, the noises of busy Los Angeles life surrounding them, and when they reached the condo's main entrance, Gus' arm slipped out of Sharon's and he held the door for her. She kissed his cheek in thanks and stepped inside the building but turned around when he called her name.

"Sharon?"

"Yes?"

"That thing you were hoping I'd find?" Gus' eyes met Sharon's. "It's family." The pause the length of a heartbeat followed. Brown eyes continued to hold green. "And I already found it."


	6. (Rusty Beck)

**6\. "Have a good day at work."**

She had no idea what had come over her. What on Earth had possessed her to take in a homeless teenager with an attitude problem? A teenager who had been pretty clear he didn't like her and was going out of his way to make her life even more complicated than it already was. Because aside from facing the scorn of the Major Crimes Division for having been chosen as Chief Johnson's replacement, clearly Sharon hadn't thought that wasn't enough. No, she had taken Rusty Beck home with her and, as she looked around her usually tidy living room, she began to wonder if she had lost her mind.

Provenza still wanted to shoot her on sight and Amy Sykes' compliments would have been nice if the young detective _actually_ meant any of them and wasn't just trying to work her way up. No, accepting Chief Johnson's position was never going to be easy but Sharon had begun to wonder if maybe she had underestimated the task ahead a little. If not with Major Crimes then definitely with Rusty.

The boy had a difficult background and Sharon felt for him. His despair to find his mother was heart-breaking. Sharon believed every child deserved to be with their mother as long as the situation allowed it and despite her suspicions that Rusty's mother was far from perfect, she wanted to help him find her.

She listened to the shower being switched off and glanced at her watch. Seven fifteen. Rusty was up earlier than usual today. Smiling a little to herself, Sharon turned away from the discarded algebra study book and empty soda can on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to make her morning coffee. She would be meeting Morales in the morgue that morning and an autopsy required coffee.

Sharon chose her favourite cup from the shelf, prepared the coffee machine and as the coffee brewed, she toasted half a bagel and had just taken a bite when she recognised the shuffling sound of approaching footsteps. Just as she turned around, Rusty came waling into the kitchen. Sharon took in the sight of him.

His hair was still wet and his feet bare but he wore the light blue polo shirt issued by the school and his favourite, Sharon assumed they were his favourite because he was always wearing them, black pants. He'd shoved his hands into his pockets but looked up at Sharon. For a moment she was struck by how young he really was, scarred and damaged beyond his years, and her mother heart ached. This child, because that was what he was still, had seen and done things no child should ever see or do.

"Is that coffee?" Rusty asked.

"Yes," Sharon smiled and turned to the machine. "Would you like some?"

Rusty climbed on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Please."

Sharon poured herself and Rusty some coffee and handed the cup to the teenager. She'd had to adjust to him drinking coffee. It wasn't something she was used to. Neither Emily nor Ricky drank it but Rusty drank it like it was water. She would have to try and change that habit, she thought. But she would have to tackle one thing at a time…

"You're up early," Sharon pointed out. She usually had to almost force Rusty out of bed in the morning. Most mornings it involved several threats, including withholding coffee and switching off the hot water.

Rusty didn't answer and drank his coffee instead. When he had half-finished the cup he abandoned it, got up and made his way back to his bedroom. When he remerged he had combed his hair, put on socks and was carrying his shoes in his hand and his school bag over his shoulder. Rusty grabbed the algebra book off the table, pushed it in his bag and then turned to look at Sharon. She'd arched an eyebrow.

"What?" Rusty challenged.

"What's' going on here?" Sharon's eyes narrowed.

"Class starts at eight thirty," Rusty rolled his eyes. "Or so you keep telling me."

Sharon shot the teenager one last look but then picked up her keys and her purse and headed for the front door. Rusty was right behind her and they rode the elevator down to the building's parking lot. Sharon drove Rusty to school most mornings and on the occasions where she couldn't she got a uniformed police officer to do it. Rusty preferred it when Sharon did it because being dropped off outside the school gates in a black and white cop car was hardly going to help him make friends.

Sharon got behind the wheel and when she stuck the key in the ignition the radio kicked in. As per usual Rusty immediately changed the station and Sharon, although she expected it, still flinched for a moment when the loud base filled the car. Reconciling herself to the fact she would have to listen to this noise for the next twenty-five minutes, she drove out of the parking lot.

Rusty didn't speak for the entire journey but when Sharon pulled up outside the gates, he turned to look at her. For the first time she could have sworn she saw some of that defensiveness fade from his eyes.

"Thank you," Rusty said before opening the car door.

"You're welcome," Sharon smiled. They had this exchange every morning. It was as good as it got and an upgrade from Rusty just getting out of the car and slamming the door.

After getting out of the car Rusty turned around and leaned back into the car, much to Sharon's surprise. His bag hung off his shoulder and he didn't seem at all comfortable but Rusty didn't seem to care.

"Sharon?"

She cocked her head. "Yes, Rusty?"

"Have a good day at work."

With that Rusty turned around, slammed the car door the way he always did and had disappeared in the crowd of students within seconds. Sharon sat and watched the spot where she had last caught a glimpse of his dirty blonde hair and then started the engine again and drove off towards Parker Centre with a smile on her face.


	7. (Dr Morales)

**7\. "I dreamt about you last night."**

When things were quiet, the focus of the Division shifted to the unsolved cases. There weren't many, something Sharon was rather proud of, but there were a few and recently one had been added. The files lay in the bottom drawer of her desk and she would sometimes just open the drawer, pick them up, go through them and put them back. Other times, like today, she would go down to the morgue and catch up with Morales about some of the more intimate details of the cases.

Sharon didn't bother putting on the blue gown she usually wore when she came down to the morgue after peering through the little round window. Morales wasn't doing an autopsy but sat hunched over some files instead. It still struck her as odd that the doctor preferred to do his paperwork on the same table where he did his autopsies but after hearing Morales say that it helped to keep his focus fresh, she'd never questioned it again.

Sharon opened the door and stepped into the autopsy room. Morales, not wearing his usual gown but instead dressed in a checked shirt and elegant dark grey pants, instantly looked up and Sharon was greeted by a beaming smile.

"Oh Captain, just the person I wanted to see."

Sharon, her hand still on the door handle, flashed a smile too before letting the door fall shut behind her and crossing the room. "I'm not sure that's something anyone ever wants hear from a coroner, Doctor."

"Guess not," Morales agreed and he leant back to the little units behind him where Sharon knew he kept his scalpels and other instruments. She spotted a metal tray on the side filled with what smelt like disinfectant and saw a couple pf the sharp blades lying in it.

"This came from the lab this morning," Morales said and he handed Sharon a thin file. It contained no more than four sheets of paper. "Results from those tissue samples you had reanalysed."

"And?" Sharon asked but Morales shook his head. The results were not what she'd been hoping for. "Damnit."

"Sometimes we just can't solve them all," Morales lamented. He pointed over his shoulder at the freezer behind him. "Sixteen unidentified bodies, Captain. And that's from this month alone. There are bodies in morgues across the county that have gone unclaimed for months, even years. Some are never identified."

"It shouldn't happen," Sharon sighed and looked down to study the lab results. "Thanks for running these again, Doctor. I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Morales watched as Sharon started back for the door and then suddenly remembered something, "Captain?" When Sharon turned around he added, "I dreamt about you last night."

Sharon's eyes widened a little and for a moment she was unsure how to respond but then the hint of a smile tugged at her lips and she pressed the thin file against her chest. "If it involved me laying on this table without any clothes on, or in any other form of undress, I'd rather not know."

"Another one of those phrases you never want to hear from a coroner, right?" Morales joked but then his face became serious. "In my dream you caught Stroh."

Sharon's face noticeably hardened at the mention of Philip Stroh's name and she straightened her spine. "In that case," she said coolly, "I hope your dream comes true."

"I know you're frustrated you're unable to find out who killed your Jane Doe, or even what her real name is," Morales said, pointing at the file Sharon was holding. "But when it comes to Philip Stroh, I know you'll get him eventually, Captain."

Sharon didn't answer but just nodded. Then she turned around and stepped out of the morgue. Instead of leaving, she leaned with her back against the door, almost letting the file slip through her fingers. She tightened her grip at the last second, gathered herself and made her way back to the Murder Room.

Once there she crossed the bullpen to her office, pulled open the drawer and took out the file that lay on top. It always lay on top. Philip Stroh's smug mugshot stared back at her, like a taunt. Sharon took the file, carried it back into the Murder Room and took the mug shot out from under the paperclip and stuck it in the middle of the Murder Board.

"Change of plan," she announced. "We're going to find Philip Stroh."


	8. (Julio Sanchez)

**Note:** After a lot of struggles and issues in our personal lives, we are finally back with some more updates! Sorry it took so long! Please enjoy

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 **8\. "Take My Seat"**

Sharon was one of the few cops who didn't mind spending their day in a court room. Although she found great satisfaction in investigating and subsequently closing a case, she found solace in seeing the suspect sentenced to prison. She would watch as those who were guilty met their fate and only then did she feel she had truly closed the case. Often they would cut a deal before a case even went to trial but there were exceptions and the case she was about to witness today was one of them.

It had taken her weeks to finally find the evidence that a man was guilty of killing his mistress. He had gone out of his way to hide evidence and it had taken everything Sharon had to break his carefully constructed alibi. He had refused the deal she offered, telling her he would take his chance in front of a jury. That chance was now and Sharon had watched the case fall apart. Their evidence was overwhelming and not even the defence lawyer stood a chance.

She was one of the last to enter the court room and just like every other day that week, it was packed. Her eyes scanned the room and singled out the members of her division on the first and second row. On the other end of the courtroom she saw the victim's family, their shoulders squared and backs straight, and their hands linked. It was how they sat every day, their eyes fixed on the man at the desk. He had refused to look at them, had refused to acknowledge them.

Sharon felt the cool gust of air from the air conditioning as she made her way down the aisle and when she reached Julio, who sat at the end of the bench, she put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and met her eyes.

"Ma'am," he acknowledged her.

"I see they're here again," Sharon whispered, jerking her heard towards the members of the press in the back of the courtroom. "Vulchers."

"They only care about the sensational part of it. They don't care about justice."

Sharon heaved a sigh. She knew press coverage was always going to happen but most of the journalists belonged to tabloids and the articles they wrote were neither accurate nor fair. She briefly looked at Amy and Andy. Amy met Sharon's eyes and they shared a look of quiet sadness. Sharon then took a step back but Julio stood up.

"Take my seat," he offered. He held Sharon's gaze. Like him, she had been in the front row every single day. Julio had been the one to arrest their suspect, had been the one to take his confession, and had been the one to spend time with the victim's family. He was as invested as Sharon, perhaps even more so, and he hadn't missed a moment in court.

Sharon smiled in thanks. She understood better than anyone the desire to sit on the first row when a verdict came in. No one wanted to hear the word 'guilty' more than she or Julio did and right now he was prepared to take a step back, literally, so she got to sit in the front row instead. It seemed like such a small thing but Sharon knew better than anyone what this meant.

Julio went to sit two rows behind Sharon and she sat down, folded her hands in her lap and swallowed. Her heart thundered in her chest when she heard the ''All rise" being called. She stood and ran her hands down her blazer. Moments later she sat back down and she looked to her right. The members of the jury were all back in their seats and the foreman stared into the distance. The judge focused on him.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor," the man simply known as juror one answered and stood up. He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and even from where she sat, Sharon could tell his hands were shaking. She'd heard the tremor of nerves in his voice.

The judge just nodded, encouraging the foreman to carry on. Sharon could hear the audible gasp that went through the courtroom as the small piece of paper was unfolded. Seconds had never felt this long.

"We the jury find the defendant…."

One…two…Sharon counted her heartbeats… three…

"Guilty."

Sharon sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling before glancing over her shoulder at Julio. He looked back at her and she didn't need to say anything. He knew it and she knew it.

Case closed.


	9. (Emily Raydor)

**9\. "I saved a piece for you"**

Sharon loved her job. She couldn't imagine herself doing anything other than being a police officer. Having to give up on her dream of becoming a lawyer had turned out to be the best decision she ever made. It allowed her to provide a stable, loving home to her children and although the hours were long and she sometimes missed out on things other parents took for granted, it was worth it just to know that her son and daughter were safe.

Internal Affairs didn't exactly make her popular within the force, and this did mean she hardly ever went out after work unless it was with members of her own Division, so she was usually home to tuck Emily and Ricky in for bed and kiss them goodnight. There were nights where she'd missed them however, and she would spend ages sitting on the end of their bed watching them sleep in an attempt to make up for the lost time.

Her keys jingled in her hand as she stuck them in the front door. Darkness has begun to fall and the street lamps had come on moments earlier. The air was full of anticipation; the Jack O Lanterns and scary looking figures in people's front yards and behind windows all added to the feeling; it was almost Halloween and tomorrow night Sharon would take Emily and Ricky trick or treating.

Stepping into the hallway of her home, Sharon could smell someone had been cooking and she followed the scent to the kitchen. There she found her neighbour Mrs Wilkins, a lovely lady in her sixties who looked after the children one day a week after school until Sharon came home, stood by the stove and turned around when she heard Sharon come in. Ricky and Emily sat at the dining table, school books in front of them, doing their homework.

"Mom!" Emily exclaimed when she saw Sharon come in and she leapt out of her seat so she could wrap her arms around Sharon's neck.

"Hi, baby," Sharon smiled contently into her daughter's hair, inhaling that familiar scent. She would be able to recognise her daughter anywhere just by scent alone. Emily let go and took a step back. "Are you doing your homework?" Sharon wanted to know and Emily nodded. "What is it?"

"English. Ricky's got History," Emily replied.

At the table, Ricky looked up and smiled. "Hey Mom."

He was too cool for hugs and kisses now, or so he said, and Sharon missed them terribly but she knew better than to force him. The longer she looked at him, the more she saw the early signs of the man he was going to become one day. Sharon circled around the table, ruffled her son's hair and peered over his shoulder at the homework in front of him.

"Eighteenth Century," Sharon said, her eyes trailing over the writing in the book. "Tough one."

"I'll live," Ricky grinned. "For now, at least."

Sharon frowned and gave her son a look. "What do you mean?"

"Emily baked a cake. We had some." Ricky pulled a face and pretended to be sick into his lap. "I might be dying right now."

"Bully!" Emily called and threw her pencil at him. She then turned to look at Sharon. Two identical sets of green eyes met and Emily proudly smiled. "I saved a piece for you."

"I will try it right now," Sharon said and watched how Emily walked across the kitchen and removed the tin foil from the plate next to the microwave. Sharon hadn't noticed the plate until now. Under the foil hid a large chocolate cake. Just under half of it was missing already and Sharon then saw that Mrs Wilkins was rinsing of the little plates and forks in the sink.

Emily took a knife from the drawer and cut off a slice of cake, put it on a plate and picked a fork from the cutlery drawer before handing the plate to Sharon. The cake smelt delicious and Sharon suspected she would be able to taste a whole lot of chocolate. She took a decent bite and the cake melted in her mouth. When she met Emily's eyes and saw how her daughter watched her in great anticipation, she smiled.

"Honey, it's perfect."

Emily's face lit up. "Really?"

Sharon's eyes twinkled behind her glasses. "Really."

Hours later, when Emily was fast asleep in bed and Sharon had checked on both her and Ricky one last time and had pulled the covers back over Ricky and switched off Emily's bedside light, she made her way down the stairs and back into the kitchen. She cut off another slice of cake and carried it back upstairs with her and sat up in bed with her back against the headboard as she ate.

Because some things were just too good to eat only once.


	10. (Andrea Hobbs, 2)

**10\. "I'm sorry for your loss"**

 _This is a missing scene from the story Leap of Faith. Ties in with chapter 12. This story can be found on MadameCissy's profile, is still ongoing and currently 25 chapters long. Go check it out! Obviously this one shot can be read as a stand alone too._

She had lost people before. Her grandmother when she was twelve. She had been the first. The first person she lost, the first person she saw after they had died. She had touched her hand and had felt how cold it was, unlike the woman it belonged to. But the woman who lay in the coffin surrounded by white satin and wearing her favourite dress, her hair and make-up immaculate, was no longer warm. She would no longer run her fingers playfully through Sharon's hair or offer her another book she'd found in some book shop somewhere. She would no longer feed Sharon's natural curiosity in that way.

She had lost more people since then. Family, friends, and colleagues. Some had died; she had lost close friends in the line of duty. Others had simply left. There was no way of defining which was worse.

And now someone else was gone. Another void, another person lost. And with that ending came the memories. The beautiful ones and the hard ones; nights spent talking or crying as she desperately tried to figure out how to raise two small children on her own. Other days were spent laughing and playing in the park, safe in the knowledge that there was someone there who had her back.

Anne was that person who had stabilised Sharon's life when she'd needed it the most. As Jack's mother she was well aware of her son's shortcomings but also of his abilities. Like Sharon, she'd understood that he wasn't a bad man. A broken and damaged one, but never bad. But she resented his betrayal the same way Sharon did and she had become her confidant and her protector and her firmest friend. And now she was gone.

For the first time in a long time, Sharon truly felt alone.

She's just booked the flights to Indianapolis and she knew she would have to go to the living room eventually to face Rusty and Brenda. They had come home with her to make sure she was alright and she couldn't leave them waiting. She was about to stand up when the phone in her hand vibrated again. She looked down and saw Andrea's name flash across the screen. She'd spoken to the DDA only moments earlier to rearrange her court appearance.

"Andrea," Sharon said. She was tired and her voice betrayed it. Her mind was reeling. The storm of emotions inside her had yet to settle down.

"Sharon, Lieutenant Provenza just called. Why didn't you tell me the reason you needed me to change your appearance?" Andrea asked softly. It was rare for the DDA to be this soft spoken. Sharon could almost picture her face; the big blue eyes full of concern. "Sharon, I don't know what to say. Why didn't you tell me?"

Sharon let her fingers trail over the comforter on her bed and picked at one of the seams. The heavy feeling in her stomach was sickening and she tightened her grip on the phone a little more. She tried to find an answer but the words only rolled off her tongue in broken intervals "I… I guess I… didn't want to have say it out loud yet."

"I understand," Andrea answered. There was a noise in the background, like a door closing. Sharon wondered if Andrea had just walked into her office. "Sharon, I'm sorry for your loss. I can't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Get me out of court," Sharon said. It almost sounded like a plea. There was an echo of despair in her voice. The thought of not being able to be with her children when they needed her the most, the thought of not being able to say goodbye to the woman who had influenced her so greatly, was unbearable. She had to be there with them.

"I'm doing everything I can," Andrea vowed. There was a pause and Sharon listened to the blonde woman take a deep breath. "How is Jack handling this?"

"I don't know. It's one of the reasons I need to be out there. For Emily and Ricky too. There are so many things that need it be done and I don't trust Jack to do them. Not in the right way anyway. And this is something Emily shouldn't have to do by herself. Because I know her… She will take all of this on herself."

"She's your daughter. That's hardly surprising."

Sharon smiled a little. "Thank you."

"Is there anyone with you? Do you need me to come over?"

Sharon knew Andrea would offer to come over if it turned out Sharon was alone. Their friendship rarely extended outside of work but Sharon liked the DDA and sometimes she wished they were better friends. Everyone needed friends in their line of work.

"Rusty and Brenda are here," she answered. "But thank you, Andrea."

"Don't say that,," Andrea replied. The echo of a smile carried in her voice. "You would have done the same for me and probably more. Are you ok?"

"Not right now but I will be," Sharon answered. "I've got to go. It smells like they're cooking." She stood up and with the phone still at her ear she crossed the bedroom towards the door. "Thank you for doing this, Andrea."

"No need to thank me. That's what friends are for. Goodnight," Andrea said. "And look after yourself, Sharon."

The call ended and Sharon clutched the phone in her hand before exiting the bedroom. She hovered in the hallway for a moment as she grew aware of the voices coming from the kitchen. Just before she walked into the living room, she walked past a picture in a black frame on the wall. She froze and turned to look at it. There, with Emily and Ricky at her side, sat Anne in the grass during one of their trips to the park. She was smiling and tears stung behind Sharon's eyes as she pressed her fingers against the glass.

"Goodbye," she whispered softly. "Time for me to stand on my own two feet once and for all. Thank you for everything."


	11. (Gavin Q Baker)

**11\. You can have half**

Some days felt like they were never going to end. Today was one of those days. In fact, every day felt like that these days. The knowledge that Philip Stroh was out there somewhere, no matter how far, left Sharon Raydor unable to relax. She hadn't slept through the night for months now. Every creak would wake her if the nightmares didn't get to her first. She had grown used to the level of tiredness and borderline exhaustion her body seemed to function on. It was hard to imagine a time where she hadn't felt constantly on edge.

Rusty discovering that he was being followed, and assuming it was someone working for Stroh and not an SID security detail, had only rattled Sharon more. She wanted to protect him at all cost. But she also didn't want him to know she had him followed and she wasn't prepared to tell him. In a way she felt an immense sense of pride that Rusty had spotted someone watching him but at the same time it unnerved her; she had been relying on this method to provide herself some peace of mind and now she had lost that too. Detective Cooper seemed to think they couldn't keep doing this forever but Sharon wasn't prepared to give up yet.

"You look like you could use some of this."

She looked up to find Gavin standing in front of her holding two large glasses of red wine. He handed her one before sinking down on the oversized couch. Sharon had never liked the way Gavin chose to decorate his home and the couch was downright ugly but it was comfortable. She'd curled herself up into the corner, her feet tucked under herself, and she swirled the burgundy liquid around in the glass. The look in her eyes was distant.

He was taken aback by the fact Sharon wasn't wearing her glasses. He saw them on the couch's arm rest. He was struck by the depth and intensity of her green eyes but also how different she looked without the spectacles. She seemed harder somehow, and older too. Suddenly he could see the dark circles under her eyes that the glasses somehow seemed to mask. The last few months had left their mark on Sharon and this was the first time he could truly see it.

"Stroh?" Gavin guessed and Sharon looked up.

"Is it that obvious?"

He dint even have to nod. "It always is."

Sharon sighed. Something felt heavy in her chest. "Rusty made his undercover detail today." She shook her head and wiped over her eyes. A smudge of mascara was left on the back of her hand but she ignored it. "Maybe Cooper was right. He trained Rusty to notice people following him. It was only a matter of time…"

"You're doing what you think is right, Sharon," Gavin said. "No one blames you for that?"

"Rusty would," Sharon answered. "If he knew..."

"But he doesn't," Gavin reminded her. He put his glass down on the expensive glass coffee table and kicked off his shoes. He then mirrored Sharon's position on the couch and she couldn't help but smile. Sometimes Gavin was a bigger girl than she was.

"What the kid don't know won't harm him." He eyed Sharon up. She didn't look at him but seemed lost in thought. "What's the latest?"

"Just a couple of unverified sightings in Cyprus and Crete. Interpol is investigating but it's not looking good. Stroh has gone so far off the grid…." Sharon dreaded saying the next words out loud. "I doubt we'll ever find him."

"He's a creature of habit. Sooner or later he won't be able to stop himself. Serial killers always do. They take their cooling off period and take their time to collect themselves but eventually the urge becomes too strong and they will kill again. Stroh is just like that, even if he would have us believe he isn't."

Sharon didn't answer but took a sip from her wine instead. The alcohol tasted slightly bitter down her throat but also left a fruity aftertaste on her lips. She took another sip followed by a third. Gavin watched her in amusement.

"Not so fast, Sharon Raydor. You'll have finished that before I've even started mine."

"You have more, don't you?" Sharon looked over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen and saw the opened bottle standing next to an unopened one on the side. "You have another whole bottle."

"You can have half," Gavin answered and put a protective hand on her arm. He had seen with his own eyes what effect wine could have on the Captain and he wasn't going to let her make that mistake again, especially not considering her current mind state.

" _Half_ the bottle, Sharon. I need you to sleep tonight and drinking the whole thing isn't going to help with that. Besides, you need to be able to give the cab driver your address." He studied the wine in his own glass as he picked it back up. His eyes narrowed a little as a thought flooded into his mind "Speaking of red wine, did you talk to Brenda?"

"Yesterday."

Sharon checked in with Brenda Leigh Johnson every other week. Since Stroh's escape, Rusty wasn't the only one considered a target and Brenda had her own security detail in Washington. Sharon had thought Stroh would go straight for Brenda because he couldn't get to Rusty but when nothing happened, she'd started to wonder if this was all part of a bigger plan. Something they had yet to discover. But Fritz Howard had been nervous enough and assigned his wife protection, against her will. As far as Sharon knew, an agent still followed Brenda everywhere she went.

She didn't know how long it was going to be but she knew Stroh would eventually reappear. Gavin was right. He was a creature of habit and his compulsion to rape and murder would eventually force him back out into the open. She suspected he was even that set in his ways, it would bring him back to Los Angeles and when he did, she would find him. Even if it took every last breath her body had left, she would make sure she was the one to put Philip Stroh behind bars. And this time, she'd throw away the key.

She leaned back into the couch and brought the wineglass back up to her lips. Her lipstick had left a faint mark along the rim. She took another sip from the wine. Rusty was home tonight, unaware of the internal struggle his mother was facing. She would come home and check on him the way she always did, usually when he was already asleep, and she would promise him she would keep him safe.

And she was going to keep that promise. No matter what it took.


	12. (Fritz Howard)

**Note:** Hey people! Sorry for the delay but most of all, Happy New Year! We're back with some more chapters for this story! Enjoy! And yes in this chapter, we are inferring at something... Take that as you will ;-)

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 **12\. "Take my jacket. It's cold outside."**

People often underestimated just how cold and wet winter in California could be. They associated Los Angeles with endless sunshine and blue skies but its residents knew better. There were days the city was cold and grey and today, an early morning at the end of November, was one of those days. It had been raining non-stop for the last two days and the sky was packed with thick, grey clouds.

Sharon had parked her car along the kerb and entered the crime scene. It was a quiet suburban road where the presence of half a dozen police cars, a SWAT van and two ambulances looked massively out of place. As she ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and attempted to shield herself from the rain with the plastic folder she'd found in the foot well of the passenger seat, Sharon crossed the front lawn to the house and sighed in relief when she stepped into the hallway.

Provenza was waiting for her and handed her a pair of plastic footies to cover her heels. She smiled as she slipped them on, then looked up. "What do we have, Lieutenant?"

"Violent break-in gone bad, or so it seems at first glance," he answered. He jerked his head towards the living room. "But the fact SOB and SWAT are here tell me something else."

Sharon could hear Fritz Howard's voice in the other room and sighed. It seemed that they were missing a piece of information if they didn't know why his Division was here. She looked back at Provenza. "Talk me through it, Lieutenant."

"Dennis and Louise Harmon. Both in their thirties. Masked gunmen stormed the house a few hours ago, held the two of them hostage. Louise Harmon claims they beat her husband and made threats before they bundled him into a car and drove off. She also claims she has no idea who they are or why they would be interested in them."

Sharon arched an eyebrow. "Any reason to doubt her?"

He shook his head. "She's not exactly the sharpest tool in the box, Captain." When Sharon glared at him he added, "With that I mean that she is more concerned with what happens on Beverly Hills Boulevard. Trophy wife. Ditzy, whatever you want to call it." He shrugged. "You'll see."

Over the years Sharon had gotten used to the sometimes less than tactful manner Provenza chose to communicate so she let the description slide. She put a hand on the Lieutenant's arm in passing and walked into the living room. There, on a large oversized pristine white couch, sat a sobbing mess of a woman, blonde ringlets falling down her face. She clutched a cup of coffee and didn't look up when Sharon entered. Amy Sykes and Fritz Howard did though and Sharon flashed them both a smile.

For the next fifteen minutes she listened to Louise Harmon as she told the story of what happened, her voice shaky and her words interrupted by sobs. Her mascara had smudged and there was dried blood under her nose. Her curls were tangled and messy and when she finally looked up, Sharon saw the beginnings of a black eye.

When Louise broke down and could no longer speak through her tears, Amy sat down next to her and wrapped a protective arm around her. Sharon slowly turned away and Fritz followed her as she made her way into the kitchen, out of earshot. Sharon leaned against the counter and folded her arms in front of her chest. She looked up at Fritz, her green eyes darkening behind her glasses.

Fritz had known Sharon Raydor for a long time and if there was one thing he had learnt about her was that her mind was sharp and she didn't miss a thing. There was no need to even wonder if she had noticed the same abnormalities he had. He let his eyes linger a moment longer on the collar of Sharon's baby blue shirt before briefly glancing down to the black pencil skirt she was wearing. Someone behind him cleared his throat and he turned slightly to find Provenza standing behind him.

"Captain," Fritz said, drawing Sharon's attention back to himself. "I don't need to ask you what's wrong with this crime scene…"

"No, Chief, you don't," Sharon answered slowly. "Louise Harmon looks like she's been in some kind of struggle. Messy hair, bloodied nose, black eye. But nothing looks out of place. The furniture hasn't been disturbed, not a single piece of paper or book on the floor." She looked around the pristine kitchen with its white marble countertops. "No broken glass. Something's not adding up here."

"This whole thing is out of place," Fritz answered. He took a step closer to Sharon and caught a faint hint of her perfume. It briefly clouded his mind and he clenched his fist. The reaction was spontaneous, he didn't have any control over it. "Whatever is going on here, Louise Harmon is not telling us the truth."

"Oh but she will," Sharon sounded determined. She focused on Provenza. "Get Amy to bring her in. I think we need to talk to Mrs Harmon away from this house."

Provenza nodded and left the kitchen. Sharon's eyes fixed on Fritz.

"Chief Howard, would you like to join me in interviewing Louise Harmon?" The hint of a smile made Sharon's lips curl.

"Most definitely," Fritz answered and gestured towards the kitchen entrance. Sharon went ahead and he followed. They made their way down the hall and stood in the open doorway. Rain continued to fall from the sky and Sharon shuddered.

Fritz unzipped the dark blue LAPD windbreaker he was wearing and tapped Sharon on her shoulder. She turned to him, a little startled, and then her eyes dropped to the item in Fritz's hand.

"Take my jacket. It's cold outside," he said. "Not to mention wet."

Sharon hesitated briefly and then smiled in appreciation. "Thank you, Chief."

She put the windbreaker on and was momentarily overwhelmed by the smell of cologne that penetrated her nose. It smelt expensive and she wondered if it was something Brenda had bought for him. She huddled a little deeper into the windbreaker before zipping it up and lifted her hair before letting it fall down her shoulders. The jacket was still warm from Fritz's body heat. It felt strange, wearing another man's clothes and feeling his warmth. Sharon felt herself blush and looked away.

"I'll meet you back at Parker Centre," Fritz said and his hand briefly lingered on the small of Sharon's back before guiding the brunette Captain out of the house and into the rain.

Walking alongside Sharon, Fritz looked at her from the corner of his eye. The rain drops glistened on her auburn hair and she was looking down a little to keep the rain from falling on her glasses. She was an attractive woman, which was surprising to Fritz because he preferred blondes. Especially those with Southern accents and an affinity for Merlot and ugly sweaters. But there was something about Sharon Raydor…

They reached Sharon's car and Fritz opened the door so Sharon could get behind the wheel. When she turned she was so close to him, her body momentarily pinned between him and the metal frame of the car, and he caught a glimpse of Sharon Raydor in all her beauty. He wanted to say something but words failed him.

Provenza watched from the front of his car as the two people crossed the lawn and he furrowed his brow. Amy climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up before noticing Provenza was staring at something and she followed his gaze. She looked just in time to see Fritz step away from Sharon as he held the door to her car. Sharon's hand rested on his arm for a split second before she closed the car door. She was still wearing the windbreaker.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Amy asked.

Provenza shot a look in the young detective's direction. His face was solemn. "That," he said as he followed Fritz with his eyes, "is a problem. Mark my words. A _real_ big problem."


	13. (Jack Raydor)

**13\. "Sorry I'm late".**

She didn't know why she was still surprised. By now she should have known better. So the fact she was now standing by the window looking out over the suburban road. It was quiet and most of the lights in the surrounding houses had been switched off a couple of hours ago. Not many people stayed up till two in the morning on a school night but for Sharon Raydor, it wasn't an uncommon thing. She glanced down at her watch and then ran her fingers through her hair. She turned when she heard a door open somewhere and braced herself for what she knew would inevitably come.

The sound of little footsteps on the stairs was followed by a timid little girl's voice calling out for her. "Mummy?"

Sharon swallowed the lump in the back of her throat away, sighed and slowly crossed the living room before kneeling down in front of her daughter. She lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind Emily's ear. "Hi honey," she soothed. "What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

It was Emily's usual tactic on nights like this. Sharon had given up trying to understand how her daughter always knew. She was only six. She shouldn't be aware of things like this and yet she was. Standing in front of Sharon in her My Little Pony pyjamas she'd wanted so desperately and her eyes still thick with sleep, Sharon's heart ached.

"Oh baby…"

"Is Daddy home yet?"

There it was. The million dollar question. The reason Sharon had been standing by the living room window staring out into the night. Jack wasn't home. And it wasn't the first time and she knew it also wouldn't be the last. There had been many nights like this one, more than she was comfortable admitting to herself, and every time it happened she vowed to herself it wasn't going to happen again. But it always did.

Sharon gently cupped Emily's cheek and shook her head. "Not yet baby," she answered and watched as Emily's face fell. The disappointment in her daughter's eyes was heart breaking and Sharon wanted to cry on her behalf. At only six years old Emily was losing the image of a father she had once adored and Sharon knew it wouldn't be long before that image would be so damaged, nothing Jack could do would fix it. It was something she wished she could spare Emily and Ricky from but it was out of her hands.

Sharon knew better than anyone what kind of man Jackson Raydor was. He was a complicated figure who, years ago, had swept her off her feet with sweet words of love and passion, with expensive gifts and flowers. Jack never understood that love could not be bought and Sharon had tried to explain time and time again that he didn't need to convince her. She had fallen in love with him during their first date and had supported him as he started law school, safe in the knowledge it would be her turn once he had passed the bar.

But then she got pregnant and Jack spent more time inside a bar instead of representing it. Emily was born and soon after she fell pregnant with Ricky. With every passing day and the long sleepless nights she watched her dream of becoming a lawyer fade. Instead she had become a cop and worked her way up through the ranks inside Internal Affairs. It didn't help her make friends but it did provide stability for her children and with Jack as their father, they needed all the stability they could get.

Sharon understood addiction better than anyone. Jack was an impulsive man who had little to no boundaries. He was easily dragged into situations that were not necessarily good for him and because of that, he was easily manipulated. But Sharon also knew that alcohol and gambling were demons and they would get hold of a person in a way that would slowly squeeze the life out of them. Addicts were damaged people but they were not bad people. They weren't evil. They were lost. But the longer she waited, the more Sharon wondered if Jack was ever going to find his way out.

The sound of a key in the lock made her look up. Emily turned too but Sharon took her daughter's arm and pushed her towards the stairs. Emily wanted to go to the door, Sharon knew, but she wasn't going to let her daughter see the man who was about to answer. The man about to come in was not the father Emily remembered and Sharon wasn't going to shatter whatever little bit of hope she had left.

"Go to bed," she instructed Emily. There was a sternness to her voice that made it clear to her daughter not to argue. "Emily Jane Raydor…" She didn't have to say anything else because Emily quietly made her way up the stairs but not until after she had cast a last longing glance over her shoulder.

Just as Emily disappeared out of sight, the front door opened. Sharon flinched at the loud sound of shoes on the wooden floor, a coat falling to the ground after a failed attempt to hang it up, keys jangling in Jack's hand. She crossed her arms in front of her chest as a way to protect and shield herself and waited. She heard him swear under his breath as he stumbled into the little sideboard in the hall. He swore again when he walked into the living room and found Sharon standing there.

"Jesus, Sharon!" Jack raised his hand to shield his eyes even though the room was almost dark. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Sharon retorted. There was an echo of bitterness to her voice and her emerald eyes darkened behind her glasses. "I see you finally remembered that you do too."

"Oh Sharon…"

She shuddered at the way he said her name. No one did it the way Jack did. It was so unique to him… she had found it endearing once. But now it had become something else.

"Don't yell at me," he said as he strode into the living room and fell down on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and leaned back into the pillow. He covered his eyes with his hands and groaned. "Why are you so loud?"

"I'm loud?" Sharon snapped. "You wait till you hear your daughter's voice in the morning, Jack." She watched him with mixed emotions; torn between wanting to leave him to wallow in his drunken stupor or to drag him to his feet, force him into the shower and into bed.

"You have made some poor choices, Jack, but today…. This is a new low. How do you think you'll fix this?"

Jack turned his head to look at her and once again Sharon looked into those eyes that had once reflected so much promise. The emotion in his voice, the constricted tears, were caused by the wine enhancing his guilt and regret. He always did this. Jack was at his most sincere when he was drunk.

"Sorry I'm late, Sharon."

"It's not me you need to apologise to, Jack. I hope you can still look Emily in the eye tomorrow morning. She waited for you!" Sharon's voice cracked. "She waited all day for you to come home and you…." She shook her head. "It was her birthday, Jack! You forgot your daughter's birthday."

She watched him for a little while longer. He wasn't looking at her anymore but instead had curled up on the couch and was talking softly to himself. Trying to get him up and in the shower would be useless, Sharon realised, and when she heard the first soft snore, she knew that he was asleep and wouldn't wake until well after sunrise.

Instead of turning around and going upstairs, Sharon took the white throw blanket she kept on the back of the arm chair and carefully draped it over her husband's sleeping form. She looked down at him with pity in her eyes. "Where did we go wrong, jack?" she wondered as she brushed some of his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. "And are we ever going to get it right?"

Sharon took a step back and then quietly padded out of the living room and up the stairs. When she passed Emily's bedroom, she noticed the door was still slightly open and Sharon peered onto her daughter's room. Emily lay curled up in her bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin, and she was breathing steadily. Reassured her little girl was asleep, Sharon closed the door and hoped that by morning, things would look better.

The next morning, she came downstairs to the doll Emily had been asking about for weeks, sitting on the coffee table and Jack smiling triumphantly when Sharon entered the room. Emily was closely behind her and when she saw the doll her eyes widened and for a moment it looked like she was going to cross the room to pick it up. But then she froze and her little hand found Sharon's and she dragged her to the kitchen.

"Mommy, can I have cereal, please?"

Sharon's heart broke. The damage was done.


	14. (Louie Provenza, 2)

**14\. Can I have this dance?**

It had been the most beautiful day full of glorious sunshine, endless laughter and the feeling of true love in the air. To see love celebrated right in front of her, to be part of something so precious, had brought tears to Sharon's eyes as she witnessed Rusty slide the gold wedding band on Gus' finger before Gus did the same to Rusty. The scared, angry teenage boy she had taken into her home ten years ago was a grown man now. A man who had just promised to share the rest of his life with someone he loved more than anyone else.

Sharon still remembered the night Rusty confided in her about wanting to ask Gus to marry him. It had been Christmas Eve and everyone was going to be at the house for Christmas that year. Rusty had shuffled into the kitchen wearing his pyjamas, simple blue checked pants and a white t-shirt, and he had smiled shyly when Sharon had asked what was going on.

"You've been off all day," she commented, letting her eyes trail over his face. She knew those nervous twitches better than anyone. The way his brow quirked, the way he plucked at his sleeves and the way his voice became just a little bit higher. "Is there something you want to tell me? Are you and Gus alright?"

"We're fine. Better than fine, actually," Rusty had sheepishly smiled and reached into the pocket of his pyjama pants and pulled out the little black box. Sharon had known before he even opened it what it was and had thrown her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She had cried and Rusty had cried too.

The next night, when everyone sat around the dinner table, Sharon had met Rusty's eyes just before he tapped his spoon against the side of his glass. He'd stood up to make a speech, causing Emily and Ricky to roar with laughter as he brought up a couple of Christmas memories from time gone by. But then he had focused on the meaning of family and his eyes had singled out Gus.

"I became part of this family because Sharon and everyone else chose to love me. And you chose to love me too. After everything you went through and what I went through, you became part of this family too. But every family grows with the passing of the years…" Rusty had looked at Emily's swollen stomach. Six weeks away from having her first child, Sharon's first grandchild. "And I don't think this family is finished growing yet. It can grow bigger and I want it to grow as big as it can be. And I want to make it grow with you." He'd pulled out the black little box and opened it before circling around the table and going down on one knee next to Gus' chair. "Will you marry me?"

Sharon watched with a smile as Rusty and Gus entered the dance floor. Fairy lights adorned the trees and mason jars with candles stood on the two dozen round tables that had been set up in the garden. The evening was still warm and the air was filled with music, laughter and the scent of fresh flowers and grass. Dressed in matching white suits with emerald green ties, their wedding bands glistening in the fading sunlight, Rusty and Gus entered the dance floor and took each other's hand.

The music started playing and Sharon recognised it as a song Rusty and Gus had often played in the early days of their relationship. She'd heard it come from Rusty's room back at the condo night after night and after a while it had grown on her. To now see her son and his husband – a word she still had to get used to even though all three of her children were married now- face the world as a married couple, brought tears to Sharon's eyes. When she looked over her shoulder she found Emily standing behind her, little Abigail soundly asleep in her arms. Their eyes met and Emily smiled.

"You did this, Mom," she whispered, pointing at the two dancing people in front of them. "Your faith in him, your love for him… that's what brought him to this moment. If you hadn't opened your heart and your home to him, we wouldn't be here right now."

Sharon didn't know what to say in return. There had never been a moment's hesitation when it came to giving Rusty a home. She had acted out of instinct when she first saw him in the Murder Room days after the standoff with Stroh in Brenda's kitchen and every day she had just done what her heart told her to do and eventually this scared, damaged boy had opened up to her and learnt to trust her. And now he had given her the one thing she had always wanted for him; his happiness.

The song came to an end and people around then were clapping. Rusty and Gus parted and with their hands still linked both turned to Sharon, beckoning for her to join them. Feeling her cheeks flush, Sharon stepped onto the dance floor and she took Rusty's other hand when she reached him. His hand was warm and clammy, just like it had been the first time Sharon had held it.

"I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for this woman," Rusty said. "My mom came into my life when I was sure I wasn't going to survive. But here I am." His eyes found Sharon. "I've been told it is quite common at weddings for the father or mother of the bride or groom to share a dance, and I'm sure we will. But there is something I want to see even more." He squeezed Sharon's hand. "For the two people who changed my life beyond what anyone can even imagine, to share a dance together knowing that everything turned out alright in the end."

Sharon wanted to ask what he was talking about but Gus had turned slightly and focused on one of the other people in the audience. "Lieutenant?"

Two years since his retirement and they were never going to stop calling him that.

Sharon watched as Louie Provenza entered the dancefloor and held still in front of her. It dawned on her in that moment that he was in on the surprise because Rusty tenderly gave her hand to him and took a step back.

"Can I have this dance?" Louie asked, smiling a little. In the light of the candles he seemed younger than his actual years, like the last few years in Major Crimes hadn't aged him at all.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Sharon smiled and allowed him to lead her to the middle of the dancefloor. The elegant burgundy dress she was wearing complimented his black tuxedo perfectly. "I do hope you know how to dance."

"Me? I've been married six times. I know how to dance."

The music began to play and to Sharon's surprise she recognised the Swan Lake theme. For a moment her eyes found Emily's before she allowed Louie to delicately guide her across the floor. The tension in her muscles eased the longer she listened to the familiar tones and Sharon relaxed into the music and into her dance partner.

"Who would have thought we'd find ourselves here?" Provenza whispered into her ear as he spun Sharon around, all the while holding her hand and having his other on the small of her back. "Our little boy is finally grown."

"I know how much he means to you," Sharon answered. "And so much of what Rusty achieved is down to you. He found a confidant in you for the moments where he felt he wasn't ready to talk to me. I don't think I ever told you how grateful I am knowing that even when Rusty felt alone, he never really was."

Louie Provenza didn't answer but instead pulled Sharon a little closer and she nestled her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes slowly fall shut. For the first time in all the years she had called him a friend, she found herself in the arms of the man who had supported her and had her back when others had been prepared to walk away. He was the friend who always told her the truth, the one who would force her to look in the mirror and see herself and for those moments of reflection she would always be grateful.

The music faded out and Sharon's eyes opened as people around them applauded. She looked at Provenza and he smiled back at her.

"We did good, you and I," he said before letting Sharon's hand slide slowly out of his and turning to look at Rusty. She followed his gaze.

"We sure did, Lieutenant," she whispered. "We sure did."


	15. (Anne Raydor)

**Note:** Hey guys, here's another little one shot for this story. Making slow progress but have lots of ideas for the upcoming 85 (!) one-shots  
This one shot can be read on it's own but it also ties in with the universe created in the story "Leap Of Faith" which can be found on MadameCissy's profile. Anne Raydor is an original character created within that story and is Jack Raydor's mother so Sharon Raydor's mother-in-law

* * *

 **15\. I made your favourite**

She still had to get used to the idea of not having Anne live so close by she could call her when she needed help, or just when she needed a friend to talk to. Now she had to pick up the phone and talk to her miles away instead of walking two blocks and stepping into the kitchen through the backdoor that was never locked. In the first couple of weeks after they'd moved, Sharon found herself standing in the street where her parents-in-law had lived for over forty years at least three times. She hadn't done it in a while now and she and Anne had their weekly phone calls but something just didn't quit feel the same.

Flying out to Indianapolis had been a long time coming and Sharon was relieved to be finally getting off the plane and wheeling her little suitcase behind her into the arrivals hall. The airport was crowded, which wasn't strange considering they were three days away from Christmas, and she scanned the sea of people hoping to find a familiar face. She spotted Anne in less than twenty seconds and smiled when her mother-in-law enthusiastically waved.

"Sharon!" she cried with delight and threw her arms around her daughter-in-law's neck before kissing her on the cheek. "How was your flight?"

"Awful," Sharon admitted. She wasn't the bravest of travellers and the constant turbulence had left her feeling more than a little queasy. "Glad to have my feet firmly back on the ground." She looked Jack's mother up and down. Anne looked well. It seemed that Indianapolis living suited her.

"Did you speak to Jack before you left? How are the children?" Anne wanted to know as she and Sharon walked through the crowded arrivals hall towards the parking lot.

"I spoke to Emily," Sharon answered. "I think she and Ricky are still shocked their father offered to put them up for the whole of Christmas. In San Diego, no less. They're adults and this has got to be the first time Jack has ever offered to put them up over the holidays." She pursed her lips. "I can't help but feel he's up to something but Emily's savvy… She knows when her dad is playing her."

The drive from the airport to Anne's new home, well, it was hardly new considering she'd been living here for almost a year, was long and Sharon took in the scenery through the car window. It looked so different compared to Los Angeles and when Anne eventually drove down a quiet suburban street where the houses were lined almost perfectly along the pavement with pretty trees finishing off the perfect picture, she felt she had walked into some kind of photoshoot for Homes Weekly. But Anne and George had worked hard for most of their lives, not to mention they'd dealt with Jack, and Sharon was just glad they were finally getting a chance to enjoy their lives.

Anne pulled the car into the driveway of one of the houses on the far end of the street and Sharon got out of the car. She took her suitcase from the trunk and followed Anne up the driveway to the front door. A large green wreath with snow dusted pinecones hung on the front door and Sharon observed some Christmas lights in one of the large trees in the front yard. When darkness fell, she suspected most of the road would light up.

She followed Anne into the house and after being instructed to leave her suitcase under the stairs, she followed her mother-in-law to the kitchen. There, seated at the large oak dining table with his trusted cup of coffee in front of him, sat George. He stood up when he saw Sharon and enveloped her in his arms. Sharon rested her head against his shoulder and breathed in his familiar cologne. Twenty-seven years she'd known this man and he still wore the same brand.

"It's good to see you, Sharon," George said when he let go of her. "How are the children?"

"They send their love," Sharon answered. "I'm sure they'll have a memorable Christmas."

George rolled his eyes. "That's one way of putting it."

George's sarcasm when it came to his son was something Sharon had grown used to. It had put her off at first but over the years she'd learnt to understand the way George's mind worked. He and Jack had a volatile relationship and Sharon could easily understand the two men butting heads on more than one occasion. She had rarely seen them in the same room together for more than ten or fifteen minutes and that was probably for the best.

"Can I get you anything?" Anne asked and Sharon turned to look at her.

"Coffee, please."

She watched as Anne made a fresh pot and let her eyes wander around the kitchen. This wasn't the same kitchen where her children had played and where there was a growth chart with Emily and Ricky's name on the back of the door. There were no hands prints left by paint when Ricky had gotten a little over excited and here she would not find Emily's little stick man figures she had drawn on one of the kitchen cupboards when she was five. This house didn't carry any of the memories and as she looked around, Sharon thought that maybe that was a good thing.

"Are you hungry?" Anne wanted to know and Sharon was roused from her musings.

"Anne, this is the woman who gave birth to Ricky Raydor…. Like mother, like son," George joked. "She's never going to say no to that."

Sharon arched an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"I made your favourite," Anne smiled and opened the oven. "Apple pie."

Sharon's face lit up. Anne's apple pie was famous. "George's right. You won't hear me say no to that."

She gratefully took the cup of coffee Anne handed to her and the warmth travelled from the tips of her fingers through her hands. The thought of spending Christmas away from her children – even as adults- still felt strange but when she'd realised they would spend the holidays with their father instead, she hadn't wanted to be alone. She'd considered working but then Anne invited her to come over and it seemed like the perfect chance. After everything Anne and George had done for her, coming to stay with them for Christmas really felt like coming home.

That night, after Anne had shown Sharon around the house, Sharon retreated to the guest bedroom and stood by the window looking out over the surrounding houses. Thousands of little lights lit up the front gardens and she could see Christmas trees in most of the windows. The world looked so different when simply lit up by thousands of little light bulbs. She would never grow tired of looking at them.

It was late when she finally went to bed but when she crawled under the fresh clean sheets, Sharon felt at peace. This Christmas would be the start of something new, of something better. She didn't know how or when or why, but she knew.

Two weeks later, she walked into a Los Angeles hospital and crossed paths with Brenda Leigh Johnson.

It changed everything.


	16. (Gus Wallace, 2)

**16\. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway."**

Sometimes there were nights where Sharon couldn't sleep. They were the kind of nights where too many faces blurred into one and she couldn't switch off the voices. The kind of night where she would toss and turn and end up kicking off the sheets before getting cold and pulling them back over herself. Eventually she would get up and get herself a glass of water. It usually ended with her sitting on the couch until she watched the sun rise over the horizon in the distance. The break of dawn would eventually chase the demons away.

She didn't have many nights like these but when she did, Sharon struggled. And after the events from recent days, she had plenty to struggle with. It seemed that the demons were clinging to her and she had a hard time shaking them off.

She slipped out of bed and her feet sank deep into the soft plush carpet of her bedroom. She picked up her glasses from her bedside table and without switching on the light she found her way to the door and stepped out into the corridor. The condo was dark and quiet. All she could hear was the ticking of the clock. Barefoot she padded down the hall past Rusty's bedroom and into the living room.

Making her way into the kitchen, Sharon took a glass from the cupboard and ran the tap for a little while before filling it. She drank half the content at once and refilled the glass. When she turned around, a shadow moving in the darkness caught her attention and her heart skipped a beat. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her grip on the glass tightened. Seconds later, she heard a familiar voice.

"Sharon?"

She instantly relaxed.

"Gus!" Sharon breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes slowly adapted to the darkness and she could make out the young man's shape on the other side of the kitchen. He was backlit by the light of the moon and had clearly just walked in. "What are you doing up? I'm so sorry, did I wake you?"

"It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway," Gus answered and he walked into the kitchen. "Is everything alright?"

Sharon nodded. She actually didn't mind the company. "Just can't sleep, that's all."

"Someone once told me that if you can't sleep it's because you're awake in someone else's dream," Gus said and laughed. "I don't know who that idiot is but they'd better stop dreaming because I'm tired and would really like to go to sleep."

Sharon chuckled. "You and me both." She made her way to the dining table and sat down, putting the glass down in front of her. She looked over her shoulder at the young man in her kitchen. Gus seemed to be staring at something she couldn't see. "Is there anything specific that is keeping you awake?"

"Just thoughts," Gus confessed. "Sometimes it all gets a bit much."

"I know the feeling."

Gus joined Sharon at the table. She was so used to seeing him around the condo now, she wasn't even surprised to find him in her kitchen at three o'clock in the morning. He and Rusty had been together for a while now and Sharon really liked Gus. He was good for Rusty and Rusty was good for him. They were so different but it was one of the reasons they worked.

"With all the work I've been doing and my relationship with Rusty… Sometimes I feel like I forget how I came to be here, in this place," Gus said and he gave Sharon a sideways glance. She watched him intently. "And I don't want to remember where I came from and how I ended up here. And after everything that happened with Mariana…"

"You're never going to forget," Sharon reassured him. "You'll always remember because you had to fight to get where you are now. Your road wasn't easy. And look at how well you're doing. You've managed to cook things in this kitchen I've never seen before, make my oven do things I didn't know it could do!"

Gus smiled. "It does look like it doesn't get as much use as it should…"

"Can't have everything," Sharon smiled and a comfortable silence fell between them for a little while. Eventually it was Gus who spoke again.

"When is Chief Taylor's funeral?" he carefully inquired.

Sharon let out a sigh. Gus had guessed the subject that was keeping her awake. The aftermath of Russel Taylor's death… The fact she herself had taken a human life, even if it was an act she still didn't regret… The whole case still haunted her and although it had been closed two days ago, Sharon didn't feel like it was really over. Maybe it was because she hadn't said her goodbyes yet. The last page had not yet been turned.

"Day after tomorrow," she answered and took another sip of water. "To be honest, I'll be glad when it's over."

She had picked up her inform from the dry cleaners earlier today. Seeing it hang on her wardrobe confronted her with the sad and cruel reality of what was still to come. She hadn't worn the uniform since Chief Delk had died but this time it felt different. She and Taylor weren't exactly friends but she respected him and they'd worked well together. The manner in which he died was cruel and unnecessary and it was the one thing about this case that angered Sharon the most. Russel Taylor didn't need to die. No one needed to die. But hatred had been responsible for the deaths of so many people…. It made Sharon feel sad.

"You should go back to bed," Sharon said after a little while and briefly covered Gus' hand with her own. "You've got work tomorrow."

"I know," he nodded. "I'm going. Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine, sweetheart," Sharon promised him and she watched as Gus stood up. He kissed her on the cheek before heading down the hall back to Rusty's bedroom.

She waited until she heard the door softly close and then she got up, carried her glass of water to the couch and sat down. She pulled up her legs.

Three hours later she watched the sun rise over the horizon.


	17. (Louie Provenza, 3)

**Note:** Any questions? You know where to go!

* * *

 **17\. Watch your step**

It was just after three in the morning when Sharon's cell phone rang. She was used to being woken up at all hours and after feeling around on her bedside table for her glasses and putting them on, Sharon picked up her phone and without looking at the screen to check the caller ID, she answered. She expected to hear a familiar voice but was startled to realise that it wasn't Lieutenant Provenza she was speaking to.

"Captain?"

Sharon blinked and sat bolt upright. Her stomach tightened and so too did her grip on the phone.. This was bad. Very, very bad.

"Chief… Pope?" Sharon muttered. Her mind was spinning. Something had happened. Something bad. There was no reason the Chief of Police would be calling her in the middle of the night. "Sir, it is 3 o'clock in the morning."

"I know, Captain. This is one phone call I never expected to make."

Sharon felt sick. "Sir?"

"I need you to meet me at Parker Centre immediately."

"What? Why?"

"Something else I never thought I'd say," Pope said and Sharon detected the tremor in his voice. "They found her."

Less than thirty minutes later Sharon found herself almost running through the abandoned and slightly darkened corridors of Parker Centre. Only the emergency lighting was on, casting ghastly shadows across the walls as she walked. She knew the building like the back of her hand and had walked these corridors more times than she could even begin to imagine. But never had she walked through them in such a rush, her heart pounding violently in her chest and the back of her throat as dry as the desert. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead and her fists were clenched. Dressed in jeans and a khaki coloured cardigan and white tank-top, the first three items of clothing she'd found after getting out of bed, and her hair pulled back in a messy bun, Sharon looked like she was about to go to her son's soccer game instead of a meeting with the Chief of Police.

Sharon reached Chief Russel Taylor's office and found the door ajar. As she stepped inside she found Taylor and Pope standing by the large mahogany desk and for a moment Sharon felt like she had been catapulted back in time. William Pope had not set foot in this office for years and seeing him here, balder and maybe twenty pounds heavier than she remembered him being, was strange. He had barely been inside the building since Sharon took over Major Crimes five years ago. What was even stranger than seeing him in the actual office was the fact that he was out of uniform. Taylor was too. Both wore jeans and Taylor wore a grey LAPD sweatshirt and Pope a plain white t-shirt. Both men looked up when Sharon entered.

"Captain," Pope greeted her and Sharon flashed a tight smile. The emotions that rushed through her left her unable to do anything else.

"Is it true?" she wanted to know. Her voice was weak and shaky. She hadn't asked that question in a very long time. She hadn't dared to. Not after so many disappointments. "Is it really her?"

Taylor and Pope shared a look as if to determine who would be the one to tell her. Eventually it was Pope who spoke first and he slowly nodded.

"Fingerprints would suggest so," he calmly answered. He spoke with the voice of a man who had learnt a great deal since becoming Chief of Police. "We are rushing the DNA test but at first glance, my thought is that we have found her." He looked at Sharon, tried to read her expression. The emerald green eyes he found staring back at him were a whirlpool of emotions. "I know it's been a long time, Captain…"

"Thirty-three years," Sharon whispered. The tears stung behind her eyes. She didn't know that even after all these years, they could still overwhelm her so easily. She'd thought things had found their place but right now, in this moment, all the memories came flooding back and the pain was intense. Every emotion she had ever felt, every tear, every lonely and terrifying night, suddenly re-emerged and she reached for the back of a chair for support. She could feel herself swaying a little.

"She was two."

Two more people entered the room and to her surprise, Sharon saw not only Lieutenant Provenza but also Brenda Leigh Johnson. Brenda had returned to Los Angeles only a few weeks ago after her stint in Washington and she and Sharon had lunch together a couple of days ago. She was keen to start her new job for the local branch of the California Bureau of Investigation but right now, she looked almost the same as she had done the first night Sharon had seen her at the hospital after David Gabriel's OIS, complete with pink trench coat.

Now the only five people within the LAPD who knew the truth were all present in the same room. The only other time this had happened was a night not unlike this one, about twelve years ago, when Pope had informed Sharon that he was including Chief Johnson and Lieutenant Provenza in the investigation. At the time, Sharon had known nothing about Brenda but she had been less than thrilled about Provenza. Brenda had only been with the LAPD for a few months and Pope had really praised her. Over time, her views of Provenza had changed and she had come to know more about Brenda too. One thing that didn't change however, was the lack of answers.

It had been Pope's idea to give the cold case to Priority Homicide, later Major Crimes, in case someone would ever stumble across a shred of information. With Sharon now working for the LAPD and the extensive experience Brenda and Provenza had between them as well as Brenda's connections, if anyone could help solve the case, it was them. And it meant that there was a point of contact within the LAPD should anything ever happen. No one spoke another word of the case after the meeting ended – not even during the months Sharon spent auditing Brenda and her division or the years that followed where Provenza had become Sharon's confidant. Tonight was the first time they were all standing in the same room, hearing the same words.

"Captain," Brenda said when she reached the brunette and put her hand on Sharon's arm. It was the familiar touch of an old friend. Something in her brown eyes reflected shock. "Sharon… Oh my God… Is it true?"

"Chief Pope seems to think it is," Sharon stammered. Her hand briefly covered Brenda's. A touch of support, a human connection in a moment where it felt like her world had come crashing down. "I…. I don't know…"

Provenza looked at Pope. "What happened?"

"At eleven minutes past midnight, a patrol car was called to a robbery near Santa Monica. Upon arrival they discovered two suspects, a male and a female. Both were arrested and their fingerprints were checked. The male came up as having a record for several robberies. The female does not have a criminal record but she was flagged in the system as reported missing thirty-three years ago. In Oakland, California."

Sharon's heart ached. This couldn't be true. Every ounce of pain she had felt over the last thirty-three years reared its ugly head. Every question she'd ever asked, every bit of self-doubt and self-loathing came back. "Oh God…"

Pope looked around the room and repeated the story everyone present here tonight knew all too well. It was the story they had kept to themselves, had barely spoken about. But it was a story that was never far from their mind.

"Annie Raydor, daughter of Jack and Sharon Raydor, was reported missing by her parents on the 4th of April 1983. She was found to be missing from her bed in the morning and the bedroom window was open. Small traces of blood and dirt were found in the bedroom and fingerprints were discovered on the window ledge. Annie Raydor was never seen or heard from again and the case eventually went cold." He swallowed. "Until tonight."

Taylor's eyes had fixed on Sharon. She stood next to Brenda, her arms limp by her side. He couldn't read her facial expression. "We found her, Captain. We found your little girl."

"Where is she?" Sharon's voice was strangely hollow. "Where is my daughter?"

"In an interview room downstairs," Pope answered.

Sharon turned on her heel and was already halfway out of the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Provenza. She turned to look at him. He was her confidant now. Someone she turned to for guidance and advice, someone she considered a friend. Never had he asked about Annie. Never had he mentioned her daughter's name. It had been the silent secret between them, the one thing they shared that nobody knew about. And tonight Sharon saw it; she saw the regret and the pain in his eyes.

"I have to see her," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "I have to…"

"Just…." Provenza squeezed her hand. "Watch your step, is what I was going to say. Thirty-three years, Sharon. You don't know whose waiting for you downstairs…"

"She's my daughter."

"She may not know that."

Sharon stepped away from him and started down the corridor. Provenza watched her walk away and only stopped staring when Brenda appeared by his side. The blonde former Chief let out a sigh. "I didn't think this day was ever gonna come."

"I don't think she did either," he answered. He glanced at Brenda from the corner of his eye. "What are you thinking?"

"That maybe after a certain length of time, things are better left the way they were," she sighed. "She lived with this for thirty-three years. Kept it a secret from everyone she worked with. No one knows. Not even Andy Flynn. She had it set up in such a way that even if her daughter was ever found, she wouldn't immediately be linked to the LAPD. I don't think Sharon ever expected to find her, let alone alive. They kept the case open only because closing it would have meant they believed she was dead." Brenda let out a sigh. "For all accounts, she may as well be."

Every step became more hesitant the closer she came and when Sharon finally saw the interview room she knew Annie to be in, she felt sick. There were only a few feet separating her from the child she believed she'd lost and her heart thudded in her chest so loudly, it made her ache. Her hand hovered over the door handle and she closed her eyes, silently counting to ten, before pushing it down and opening the door.

The room was brightly lit and there, at the table in the middle of the bright space, sat a young woman. She looked up when she heard the door open and her eyes instantly found Sharon's. It was like looking in the mirror; those same, emerald green eyes. For the longest of moments Sharon just stared.

But then she said, "Hi." She stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. "My name is Sharon and I think you and I need to talk."


	18. (Dr Morales, 2)

**18\. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better."**

Sharon hesitated outside the autopsy room. She was wearing the usual blue gown and held her gloves and mouth mask in her hand. She'd tied her hair back into a ponytail so she could easily put it under one of the paper hats she had to wear inside the room to prevent hair from falling onto the body and contaminating evidence. Her heart pounded in her throat and she felt sick with nerves.

She had done hundreds of these. She'd seen more dead bodies in her career than she cared to remember and most days it didn't bother her. She would dab some Vicks under her nose and not even flinch when the Medical Examiner used an electric saw to cut through the breastbone before removing it and lifting out the heart and other organs. She'd held bowls filled with the foulest smelling stuff, had held bloodied bullets between her fingers and had watched bodies being taken apart before being sown back together and she had gotten used to the smells of stomach acid, of blood and of death.

Sharon had seen death in all its brutality but sometimes it still caught her off guard, still shocked her in some way. There were moments where death still took her breath away and today was one of those days. Because the body on the table on the other side of the door wasn't that of a grown man or a woman but it was that of a seven year old girl whose life had been brought to a tragic end. And Sharon wasn't quite ready to see the next step in the process of bringing the girls' killer to justice even though she knew she had to.

She looked up when the door unexpectedly opened and Doctor Morales stepped outside. He was wearing his scrubs but his hands were not gloved up and he wasn't wearing his mask or hat. He looked up when he sensed the presence of someone else in the hallway and his eyes found Sharon's. They shared a quiet look of silence.

"Some days I really hate my job," he solemnly said and looked back over his shoulder at the door. "Today is one of those days." He shook his head. "No child should ever end up on my table."

"I know, Doctor," Sharon quietly answered as she followed the man's gaze to the door. "But right now you are the only one who can give us the answers we so desperately need."

Morales heaved a deep sigh and after a few seconds he turned back to the door and held it for Sharon. She reluctantly stepped into the autopsy room and felt her heart ache when she looked at the table. The white sheet covered the body completely. It was designed for adults but Sharon could see the perfect little frame very clearly. She swallowed hard but she could still taste the bile in the back of her throat.

She and Morales approached the table side by side and Sharon stood to the left whilst Morales moved to the right side and pulled his tray of tools closer. She watched as he put on his mask and his hat followed by a double pair of gloves. Sharon then did the same and struggled a little to push her clammy hands into the latex gloves. She took a deep breath and even through the mask she could still smell the identifying smell of the morgue; it was the smell of Vicks mixed with antibacterial spray and death.

"I'm not going to ask if you're ready," Morales said, his voice a little muffled behind the mask. His eyes found Sharon's. "No one is ever ready for this bit."

He took the sheet and slowly rolled it down, revealing the perfect little face of their victim. Long, dark brown curls lay sprawled out across the metal table and Sharon was struck by just how young and fragile the girl looked in the harsh, unforgiving light of the autopsy table. Her skin was ghostly pale and her little body had begun to bruise in places.

When Morales picked up his scalpel and placed it against the girl's chest, Sharon closed her eyes and turned away.

Two hours later, the autopsy was over and with her gown and gloves thrown into the trash, Sharon sat outside the room on the wooden bench, her head cradled in her hands. She desperately tried to erase the images inside her mind whilst Morales' voice played over and over again in her head, detailing all of his findings. Her stomach twisted and she felt like she was going to be sick. The autopsy had confirmed suspected arsenic poisoning and had given Sharon a new direction in her investigation. She'd passed the information on to Lieutenant Provenza but couldn't face the thought of going back to the Murder Room yet.

Sharon looked up when Morales stepped out of the autopsy room. He had taken off his scrubs and wore black pants and a checked shirt. He sat down next to Sharon and held up a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Sharon wrinkled her nose.

"What is that?"

Morales put the glasses in between him and Sharon on the bench and filled each with a small splash of whiskey. The strong smell found its way up Sharon's nose but it wasn't off putting. It reminded her of the brand her father used to drink.

"Here, drink this. You'll feel better," Morales said and he handed one of the glasses to Sharon.

She narrowed her eyes. "You don't keep this in one of your dead fridges, do you?"

"Captain, whiskey isn't kept in a fridge. Don't worry, I keep it in my desk." Morales took a small sip and savoured the taste. "For moments like this."

Sharon brought the glass up to her lips and took a sip. The whiskey burnt down her throat and she almost coughed. She watched as Morales downed the remainder of his glass in one go and she followed his example. Her body instantly began to feel warm from the inside out and she felt the heat course through her veins. She put the glass back down, ran her fingers through her hair until she found the hair tie that was keeping it in a ponytail and pulled it out.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said as she stood up and smoothed out her button down shirt and black slacks. "I need to get back to the Murder Room."

She turned but before she left the room, Morales called her back and Sharon looked at him over her shoulder.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Catch the bastard who did this." There was a sad tremor in the Doctor's voice. "Please?"

Sharon tightened her grip on the door handle and her mind flashed back to the moment where Morales had literally held the little girl's heart in his hand. The heat of the alcohol was replaced by the distinct pressure of anger and she nodded.

"Don't you worry, Doctor," she promised. She wasn't making that promise just to him. It was a promise to herself and the little girl under the sheet as well. "I will."


	19. (Amy Sykes)

**Note:** Sorry for the super long delay, guys! So much stuff happening in life right now. Who's excited for the new episodes?! **  
**

* * *

 **19\. Can I hold your hand?**

 _36 hours ago  
Washington DC/Los Angeles_

"Sharon?"

"Brenda?"

"He's back…"

"What?"

"Philip Stroh. He's back. He was here. Outside my apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"I looked him right in the eye."

"Oh my God…"

"I am taking the first plane home."

~()~

 _Today  
Los Angeles_

The Major Crimes Murder Room hadn't been in this much of a frenzy since the day Philip Stroh escaped. The longer she looked around the room, the more Sharon was reminded of that fateful day. Since then, life had taken on a level of comfort that easily allowed her to forget the evil that was still lurking out there and in recent weeks, she hadn't thought of Philip Stroh as often as she once used to. There were days, weeks even, where she wouldn't look for his face in a crowded space or hear his voice in her dreams.

Until yesterday.

Now he seemed to be everywhere and the knowledge that he had found his way back into their lives was unsettling. Sharon knew that Stroh seeking out Brenda had been a warning. After Rusty, she was the only other person who could testify against him in court. By seeking out Brenda he had reminded Sharon that he knew where to find her and Rusty and that he was watching them. He had expected Brenda to warn Sharon and she knew that knowing he instilled fear in her was something Stroh enjoyed. He felt empowered by the fact he unnerved Sharon. She didn't want to give him that pleasure but she couldn't help it.

Amy slammed down the phone so hard it made Sharon jump. "I've got something!"

Sharon spun around. "What?"

"Dulles Airport has a man matching Stroh's description boarding a Delta Airlines flight to Los Angeles at 06.57 yesterday morning."

"Three hours after Brenda called me," Sharon said softly and fixed her eyes back on the Murder Board. Philip Stroh's mugshot had been pinned in the middle. His blank eyes stared back at Sharon. She had seen his face so many times she could draw it on a piece of paper down to the smallest detail. She would never be able to forget.

"He really was sending her a message."

"Message received," said a tired voice behind her and Sharon turned around to see Brenda Leigh Johnson standing in her Murder Room. Clad in worn out jeans and an oversized sweater, her blonde curls pulled back in a messy ponytail and with dark circles around her eyes, Brenda looked exhausted. Sharon suspected she didn't look that much better herself.

"Brenda," she sighed, relieved to see the other woman in one piece and she crossed the Murder Room. She briefly hugged the former Chief and when she took a step back, concerned brown eyes searched Sharon's face. Sharon knew Brenda was looking for the signs of fear and exhaustion and she also knew the blonde would find them.

"Is Rusty ok?" Brenda asked and Sharon nodded.

"I have officers watching him round the clock. Much to his frustration."

"Getting hurt would be an even bigger frustration," Brenda commented and Sharon nodded. "And you?"

"I just want to catch this guy," Sharon sighed.

The rest of the squad looked on as the two women stood across the Murder Board and stared at the picture of their mutual nemesis. It had been years since they'd been in this room together and the roles were reversed now that Sharon was in charge but somehow Brenda effortlessly slipped back in place and when she turned around and looked at the familiar faces, it felt like she had come home.

"Amy just told me that Stroh came in to Los Angeles yesterday morning on a flight from Washington DC," Sharon said to Brenda. "He knew that you would call me as soon as you saw him. So what is he trying to achieve?"

"Fear? Terror?" Provenza suggested. "We know Stroh gets off on making people suffer. Knowing he's back causes you stress. Maybe he thinks it will distract you."

"He also knows that Rusty will be watched," Sharon countered. "He has no way of getting to him. Rusty doesn't leave this building without a protective detail at his side, or with me." Her hand subconsciously travelled down to her gun strapped in its holster on her hip, her index finger grazing over the cold metal. "Stroh must know he can't come near him." Sharon's eyes narrowed as her brain tried to work out how to fit the pieces together. "So what else is he looking for?"

"Could he be here for something else?" Tao suggested. "We always assumed he would come back to tie up loose ends, so to speak." He didn't want to say out loud that Stroh wanted to kill Rusty. No one wanted to be the one to say those words. "But could there be something else?" He focused on Sharon. "What else would cause us to become distracted?"

"A big case," Andy answered.

"We haven't caught anything new," Provenza countered.

From across the room Julio answered, "Not yet." There was a pause. "Who knows who else Stroh has in his pocket. We know he's worked with partners and others before. Who's to say that he isn't going to try and do something like that again?"

"The truth is, we don't know," Sharon said and she walked to the white board and unclipped Stroh's picture. She turned back round to the Murder Room and her gaze drifted across everyone's face. "But no one goes home until this man is back in prison."

~()~

Darkness had fallen hours ago and Sharon glanced at her watch. 9.47 pm. She hadn't been home since Brenda's phone call and she'd already used the spare set of clothes she kept in her office. Her hair was a little greasy and she'd pulled it back in a bun, several strands falling down the sides of her face. She'd lived on coffee and tea from the breakroom, two slices of pizza courtesy of Julio and one salad Andy had brought her from the small bistro two blocks away. The empty Styrofoam box and plastic cutlery lay abandoned at the end of her desk, a half finished can of diet soda – something she never drank- standing next to it.

Her head was pounding and the lack of sleep was beginning to get to her. She looked up through the open blinds. Julio was bent over his desk, his head on his arm. From where she sat he looked to be asleep but she knew he had a phone between his ear and shoulder and he was scribbling things down on a notepad. Provenza came in with two cups of coffee, put one down next to Julio and patted him on the shoulder. He then turned and his eyes met Sharon across the distance that separated them. She gave him a tired smile.

The next thing she knew, Amy burst into the room, still clutching her cell phone. She said something Sharon couldn't hear because her door was closed but everyone moved and by the time she'd reached the door and yanked it open, people were scrambling.

"Captain!" Amy sounded out of breath. "We just got a call about a young woman found dead in her bedroom by her mother. She was raped and strangled with a chain." Amy's eyes held Sharon's. "She' was twenty—three, blonde, and the fly screen in front of her window had been removed."

Sharon's heart sank. "Stroh."

"Combining both his MO's in one attack. He isn't even trying to hide."

Sharon shook her head. "He's taunting us. He knows we know it's him but we can't catch him." She turned to her desk and picked up her phone. "Let's go. I want to see the crime scene. And call Brenda. She'll want to be there too."

The crime scene was seven blocks from Parker Centre, something Sharon considered to be another taunt. Stroh had raped and killed a woman right in their backyard and there was nothing they could do about it. The quiet street was riddled with police cars and Sharon ducked under the crime scene tape, slipped her heels in a pair of plastic shoe covers and forced her clammy hands into a pair of latex gloves. She was about to enter the house when Brenda called out her name.

Sharon watched as the blonde walked up the garden path and reached her. Horror was etched across her face. "It feels like I've stepped back in time."

"I know. He's doing this to…."

"No, I mean literally," Brenda interjected and she pointed at the house. "Do you know where we are?"

Sharon shook her head.

"This is the house where Alexa Smart lived when she was raped by Philip Stroh. She moved out after the attack." Brenda's dark eyes looked around and a cold shiver crept down her back. She felt sick. "She was Stroh's first victim when he worked with Chris Dunlap."

"Oh my God," Sharon whispered. She looked back at the door. Andy had appeared and he watched her with concerned eyes. He'd asked her twice if maybe she should go home for some sleep but she'd rejected his offers. "What are the odds of another blonde girl in her twenties moving into the home of his first victim?"

"I don't think it mattered what she looked like," Brenda solemnly answered. "This is just Stroh's way of sending a message."

"I called you tonight because you know this case better than anyone," Sharon said as she stepped into the house. Brenda closely followed but Sharon put a hand on the blonde's arm and stopped her. "Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to."

"Yes, Sharon, I do," Brenda answered and she set her jaw. "I do."

Sharon nodded and silently they made their way into the house. When they reached the bedroom, Sharon took a deep breath before going inside and felt a wave of nausea when she laid eyes on their victim. Hollow eyes stared up at the ceiling and the girl's face was covered in blood. She'd been savagely beaten and Sharon spared herself a closer look at the other damage done to her body. The marks left by the chain were clearly visible on her neck. She turned away and looked at Brenda. The younger woman stared at the crime scene in front of her.

"Son of a bitch," Brenda hissed before angrily spinning round and leaving the bedroom. Sharon went to follow her but Andy stopped her.

"Leave her be," he hushed. He gently slipped his hand under Sharon's chin and tilted her face so she looked him in the eye. "You need to go home, Sharon."

"There is nothing I can do at home," she answered. "I'll sleep in the break room."

"Sharon…."

She shook her head and followed Brenda out of the bedroom. By the time she caught up with the former Chief, Brenda was leaning against a black and white police cruiser, her fingers nervously twitching. When Sharon reached her she said, "You should check in with Rusty."

"I know." Sharon stared at the ground. "He is convinced Stroh isn't going to get to him. I admire his defiance and his desire to just want to carry on living, not letting Stroh control his life, but I don't think he fully realises…"

"What this is doing to you?" Brenda asked, giving Sharon a sideways glance. Their obsession with Stroh was different but she understood. "Fritz never got it either." She sighed. "What about Andy?"

"It's different for him," Sharon mused. "I'm not sure he gets it."

"Go," Brenda said softly. "Go be with Rusty."

~()~

Going home and being with Rusty turned out to be not much more than a quick chance to take a shower, change her clothes and have half an hour to catch up with her son. The presence of the uniformed officers outside her building and her front door was disconcerting and Sharon felt uncomfortable despite their presence. One look at Rusty confirmed that he shared that feeling although it probably was for different reasons. The officer's presence to him felt like an intrusion, for Sharon it was a reminder of just how much danger he was in.

When Amy rang to let her know that DNA had been recovered from the crime scene, Sharon left the condo and drove back to Parker Centre. She made sure to kiss and hug Rusty goodbye, greeted the officers that were keeping watch and when she walked into the Murder Room half an hour later she found the rest of her division standing around the whiteboard.

"What do we have on the DNA?" Sharon asked as soon as she entered.

"Still waiting," Tao answered. "But I have a feeling we already know who it belongs to."

"He isn't even trying to hide," Provenza mused. "That's bold."

"That's his plan," Sharon darkly replied.

"But why?" Brenda asked the question everyone was thinking. "Why now?"

Sharon shook her head and turned on her heel when she heard her phone ring in her office. She left the door open and grabbed the receiver, holding it between her ear and her shoulder as she turned around to the Murder Room. "Captain Raydor."

"Hello, Sharon." The voice was unmistakable. She'd heard it many times, even in her nightmares. "I see you got my message."

Sharon's eyes snapped up and she found Provenza looking at her. She beckoned for him to come over. Brenda, who had just stood up, followed him. It was as if she somehow sensed what was happening. Sharon pressed the speaker button and quietly put the receiver back down. She waited, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

"Hello, Brenda."

The blonde shivered. She hadn't heard that voice in over five years. "Philip."

"It's so nice to hear your voice. I've missed you. And you too, Sharon."

"What do you want?" Sharon asked.

Brenda heard the tremor of anger in her voice.

"My, my… I only want to talk. No need to take such a tone," Stroh answered. "I want to talk and I expect you to listen."

"We're listenin'," Brenda said. Her eyes held Sharon's. She noticed the way the older woman leaned on her desk, the palms of her hands flat against the wood, fingers splayed. Her knuckles were white. Brenda could see the tension in Sharon's muscles.

"Everything comes full circle in the end," Stroh said. "Question is, where is the end?"

"We know you went back to the house of your first victim," Sharon answered.

"Oh, that was beginning. But not the start."

Sharon looked at Brenda and was about to say something else when the panicked scream of a woman echoed through her office. Sharon jumped back, her hand covering her mouth. Brenda's eyes widened. The scream was ear piercing and filled with terror. What followed were sobs filled with begging for something, or someone, to stop. Sharon felt the tears sting behind her eyes and she shook her head. Were they listening to Philip Stroh's next victim? Was he taunting them?

Brenda approached the desk. She was the first to find her voice and over the tormented screams of the woman she asked, "What about the end?"

A gurgling sound followed and Sharon knew they were listening to someone slowly being strangled. She felt anger and disgust course through her body.

"The end is up to you," Stroh answered and everyone present could hear the smile in his voice. "You'll know where to find me."

The screaming carried on for a couple more seconds and then the line cut off.

"I need that call traced! NOW!" Provenza barked over his shoulder and behind him, Mike scrambled to his computer and began furiously typing on his keyboard. He then looked at Sharon. "You know what he's doing. He is messing with your head."

"It's working," Sharon groaned. She pressed the button to silence the phone and the sound of the dial tone faded into nothing. She smacked her fist on the desk in frustration and turned away from Brenda and Provenza. Never had she felt so helpless. She stared out over the Los Angeles skyline outside her window and heaved a sigh.

"Stroh likes to taunt," Provenza reminded her.

"There's a message in there," Sharon slowly said. "Just like before." She swallowed. "We just need to find it."

"Sharon?" Brenda walked around the desk but kept a distance just far enough to stay out of Sharon's personal space. "He's playing with you."

"That's what he's counting on. He expects me to be distracted. He knows I'll worry about Rusty and hearing that girl…." The lump in Sharon's throat didn't shift. "There's something we're missing."

"What did he mean with 'the end'?" Brenda wondered.

Sharon slowly turned around and walked across her office. From the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet she took a bullet proof vest and gave it to Brenda.

"I think I know." Green eyes held brown as Brenda took the vest. "Let's end this."

~()~

The duplex building was empty and had been for some time. One of the top windows had been smashed and boarded up. The board was covered in graffiti and the grass on the front lawn reached up to their knees. Soon the building would be knocked down to make way for a fancy new apartment building that had been advertised as far as twenty blocks away. It boasted about a state of the art gym and a swimming pool.

Sharon readjusted her earpiece and heard the faint crackle. "Everyone set?"

"The building's surrounded," Provenza's voice came through the earpiece. "All done."

Brenda glanced at Sharon from the passenger seat. The vest Sharon had given her felt hot and heavy underneath her shirt. It had been sometime since she had worn one of these and Sharon had suggested wearing it underneath her clothes to make it appear as if they were unprotected. Brenda hadn't asked what they needed protection from. She knew.

"Do you really think this is it?" she asked Sharon and the Captain nodded.

"Your duplex is where Stroh's killing spree ended and where his journey to stand trial began," Sharon answered. She unclipped her gun from its holster, checked the magazine and removed the safety. Her eyes met Brenda's and watched as the blonde performed the same action. "Beginning and end."

She opened the car door and stepped out into the cool evening air. Brenda followed, safe in the knowledge that around the corner, four vans filled with police officers were waiting and listening to their every move. They could be there within seconds if things went wrong but right now, she and Sharon were alone and Brenda shivered as she walked the familiar path to her own front door with her gun drawn. Sharon was right behind her.

Sharon felt her heart thunder in her chest and she wasn't at all surprised to find the front door unlocked when Brenda turned the doorknob. The door creaked as it revealed the darkness of the duplex and Sharon took a deep breath. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her fingers tightened around the barrel of the gun.

She had only been to the duplex once; the night Brenda had shot Stroh in her kitchen. Sharon had taken her statement and her gun and then escorted her to the hospital where eventually David Gabriel had taken over. She'd returned to the crime scene and stayed there all night and as she stepped over the threshold into what had once been the living room, she could immediately picture what the room had once looked like. She reached for the light switch but the room remained dark. The power had been cut off.

"Please… help…."

The sobs came from the other side of the house, one of the bedrooms, and Sharon had to grab Brenda's arm to stop the blonde from walking through the darkness towards the sound. Brenda waited for Sharon to switch on her flashlight and then did the same. The yellow beams bounced off the walls, casting eerie shadows, and Brenda shuddered when she heard the sobs again.

"Someone…. Help…. Please…."

With the flashlight as her guide, Brenda found her way effortlessly around the duplex. She had walked these rooms countless times in the middle of the night. Now that there was no furniture to avoid, it was even easier. The floorboards creaked just as she reached the kitchen and she flinched, swearing softly under her breath.

"Clear," Brenda whispered after she'd checked the kitchen, dining room and old laundry room and Sharon gave a thumbs up in the living room.

Brenda joined Sharon and they slowly approached the corridor that led to the bedrooms. The doors to the bedrooms were closed but the door to the bathroom was open and Sharon checked it. It was empty. She caught a glimpse of herself in the broken mirror on the wall but turned away from her reflection, joining Brenda outside the guest bedroom. She silently counted to three and opened the door.

It was empty but the sounds of crying and pleading from the other room seemed to grow louder and without hesitation, Brenda started for the old master bedroom. She waited for Sharon before opening the door and slowly reached for the doorknob. She turned it and the door gave way. It creaked as it swung open and Brenda stepped inside, letting her flashlight dance across the floor and walls. She was expecting to find the girl crying on the floor but instead she saw a small tape recorder standing right where her bed had once stood. Two small speakers were attached to it and it was then that she realised that they had been played.

"Son of a…" Brenda sneered as she yanked the speakers from the recorder. Instantly silence fell. She turned to look at Sharon. "This was a trick? Are we in the wrong place?"

Sharon reached for her earpiece. "Lieutenant, false alarm. There is no one here."

"Are you sure, Captain?"

"The screams came from a tape recorder with speakers attached to them, Stroh must have recorded them from somewhere."

"Captain? Captain, you're breaking up. What did you say about a tape recorder?"

Sharon looked at Brenda and together they stepped into the hallway.

"Where the hell is he?" she wondered. "I was convinced this was the place."

"I don't know. Your reasoning made sense. I thought Stroh would be here," Brenda answered. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved that he wasn't.

A soft gust of wind kissed the side of Brenda's face and she looked over her shoulder. Something about the guest bedroom caught her eye and she took a step closer. She studied the old curtains in front of the window. They were swaying lightly in the evening breeze.

"Sharon?" she asked, a hint of nerves evident in her voice.

"Hmmm?"

"Was that bedroom window open when we cleared the room?"

Sharon spun around. "What?"

"The window…. Was it open?"

"No."

All that Sharon managed to say next was "shit". Then something bolted towards them from the shadows and knocked both of them to the ground. Sharon hit her head against the wall and instinctively curled up into a ball. Her gun and flashlight slipped away from her. Behind her, Brenda fought with her attacker, crying out in pain and anger.

Brenda felt the cold metal of a knife being pressed into her throat and she stopped struggling when she felt another person's warm breath on her skin. She knew that smell. She had never been able to wash it off. It had followed her for the last five years, like a bad stench she could not get rid of. Philip Stroh looked down at her, smiling deviously, and then yanked Brenda to her feet by her hair, dragged her across the hall and forced her into the master bedroom before slamming the door. Brenda fell to the ground with such force that she blacked out when she hit her head and remained motionless.

Sharon tried to scramble back to her feet and felt around for her glasses. She found them but when she put them back on, they were slapped off her face again. Stroh's strong hands closed around her wrist and pinned her against the wall.

"You can't…." she tried but he shook his head and showed her a little black remote.

"Mighty useful things, these signal jammers. No one inside those vans can hear a thing right now. Did you really think I was going to come unprepared?" Stroh mocked. "Ouch, Sharon. I thought you'd think a little better of me than that."

He let his finger trail down the side of Sharon's cheek. "Nice to see you again, Sharon." He cocked his head. "Now, are you going to play nice today or are you going to make me mad? You don't want to make me mad now, do you, Sharon?"

Sharon managed to shake her head.

"Good. You and I have a lot to talk about. How's Rusty?" Sharon's eyes were blazing and Stroh chuckled. "Sensitive subject, eh?"

He pulled Sharon's arm, forcing her to follow him, and she shivered at the sound of the tip of the knife being dragged across the wall. She listened out for Brenda but didn't hear her. Panic kicked in. No one could hear her. She was alone with Stroh. How long before anyone realised what was going on?

Stroh unexpectedly grabbed Sharon by her hair and she cried out in pain as he threw her to the ground. They were in the living room now and a faint beam of light from a streetlight fell across the floor. Sharon watched as Stroh came closer and moments later she felt his weight on top of her as he straddled her. His knees pinned her down to the floor. He leaned in and placed the knife against her cheek, dragging it softly across her flesh. Sharon felt the stinging pain followed by something warm dripping down her face.

"I've been waiting a long time for this," Stroh smiled as he pulled the knife back and studied his handiwork. He then let the knife slide down the length of Sharon's neck, lingering a few moments on her pulse point, before trailing down to her shirt. The metal felt almost burning hot against her skin and Sharon gasped when Stroh grabbed a fistful of her shirt and began slicing it up.

"This isn't going… to… solve anything," Sharon panted. She tasted blood in her mouth. "You are only… making… it worse. They will catch you and…"

"By the time anyone gets here, you'll be dead and I'll be gone." Stroh almost lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind Sharon's ear then drew the knife across the top of the bulletproof vest and then across her shoulder. Sharon bit her tongue when the pain came and she clenched her fists.

She recognised the rattling sound of a metal chain and Sharon's eyes widened as Stroh pulled it from his back pocket and wrapped it around her neck almost like a scarf. The metal felt cold against her skin. Panic kicked in and fear followed. He was too strong, she knew that, and too heavy. She didn't stand a chance the same way none of his victims had stood a chance.

Stroh tightened the chain, cutting off Sharon's ability to breathe and she made sure to look him in the eye. If this was it, if he was going to kill her, then she would make sure she'd remember every detail of his face. She felt herself become lightheaded, felt her arms and legs go limp, felt the pressure inside her head, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The world began to spin as her lungs desperately fought for oxygen. She would soon pass out.

Three… two…

BANG!

The gunshot rang out. Silence followed.

Another shot. BANG!

Brenda stood in the shadows, gun raised.

Sharon tried to move, coughing and spluttering as she fought for air. Her body ached and she felt like she was about to throw up. Brenda emerged from the shadows and fell down to her knees next to Sharon, helping her up. The blond reached for the chain still wrapped around Sharon's neck and removed it. It fell on the floor next to Stroh's body.

"How…"

"Doesn't matter now," Brenda soothed as she touched Sharon's cheek. "Are you hurt?"

The brunette shook her head. "No. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Brenda said softly. She looked at Stroh and then back at Sharon. Concern was etched across her face.

The living room door burst open and suddenly the room was full of people and lights, voices and sounds. People were yelling and screaming, someone was barking orders. Sharon blinked against the invasive bright light of a flashlight highlighting her face and turned her head away. Brenda had leapt to her feet and suddenly there were people around them, everywhere.

Sharon stirred when she felt Amy's hand on her shoulder and looked up. The younger woman's eyes were soft and kind as she knelt down next to Sharon on the floor and lowered her flashlight.

"You're shaking," Amy observed Sharon's trembling hands.

Sharon looked down. Her hands were bloodied and bruised and Amy was right, they were shaking. She hadn't noticed but now that she did, Sharon felt her whole body shake. Adrenaline still rushed through her veins and relief had settled in her chest. She ached and glanced up at Amy with distant green eyes.

"Amy…"

"Yes, Captain?" Amy asked and noticed Sharon was trying to stagger to her feet. She reached out her hand and silently prompted her to remain seated. She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until the paramedics say you can." She moved a little closer and hesitated for a moment. "Can I hold your hand?"

Sharon didn't answer but also didn't pull away when Amy carefully covered her hand with her own. The soft, warm touch stopped the trembling and Sharon looked around until she found Andy. He was standing over Stroh's lifeless body and she saw the anger and hatred in his face. He turned to look at her and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. She didn't smile back, just blankly stared at him.

"Rusty," she said softly to Amy and the younger woman nodded. "Is he alright?"

"He's safe," Amy reassured her and pointed at the broken front door behind her. "A squad car is picking him up and he'll meet you at the hospital."

Provenza looked at Sharon and Brenda and removed his glasses. He wiped his brow and released a shallow breath. He noticed the gun still in Brenda's hand and took a tentative step towards her. Their eyes met for a brief moment and he was met by hollow brown orbs that stared at him but didn't seem to actually see him.

"What did you do?" Provenza asked and Brenda looked at Sharon, her hands still held by Amy, before glancing back at her nemesis' dead body on the floor. Then she looked back at Provenza.

"What I should have done five years ago. I put an end to Philip Stroh."


	20. (Julio Sanchez, 2)

**20\. You don't have to say anything**

Every day they took a risk. Every day they would risk their reputation and sometimes their lives. Most days it felt like they were risking their sanity and their ability to still see good in the world after staring down pure evil across a table in an interview room or witnessing heart-breaking grief in the morgue. And some days…. Some days they didn't even think about the fact they were taking risks. They'd get up in the morning, take their badge and gun and wouldn't even consider that in a matter of minutes or hours, everything could be different. Maybe not that day. Or the next.

But one day…

Today.

It had been a routine door to door investigation after their initial call out to the crime scene. The sun had been high in the clear blue afternoon sky and a soft gust of wind brought in the salty sea air from the ocean a couple of miles away. Today was one of those days that made people fall in love with Los Angeles – if they didn't see the sides they saw anyway- and Sharon had enjoyed feeling the warm sun on her skin.

If there was such a thing as 'wrong place, wrong time', this was it.

It happened so fast. Too fast. Someone yelled and glass shattered. Sharon shielded her face as the shards came raining down on her from the first floor window. The next second, someone jumped off the balcony and landed a couple of feet away from her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, felt someone trying to yank her back, but her body seemed frozen and for a split second she looked into the stranger's face. Their eyes met and then she heard the shot.

The pain was red hot but her brain needed a few moments to comprehend what had happened. She looked down at her hand, at the warm, bright red blood now coating her fingers as it poured from the bullet wound in her stomach. Then the world began to spin and she swayed. The sunlight and the blue sky merged together into a strange concoction of purple and then she fell. Her head hit the lawn and she stared up at the sky above. She couldn't feel the sun anymore.

People were shouting and the sound of bullets being fired echoed through her mind. Then someone was at her side and she turned her head. The metallic taste in her mouth was disgusting and when she coughed she could feel and taste the blood. Panic kicked in. Blood wasn't supposed to be there. It wasn't supposed to find its way into her lungs. When she inhaled, she couldn't suck in enough oxygen.

"Captain," a familiar soothing voice said and Sharon tried to focus. "Captain…."

The voice faded out.

Lights were flashing and in the distance she could hear voices. Loud voices but the words didn't make sense. She couldn't hear what they were saying. She saw glimpses of faces but they had no eyes. Or maybe they had no faces. The shapes looked like people… but somehow it was as if they weren't really there. Someone yelled and it was followed by a loud beep which eventually just faded into silence.

~()~

"She's waking up…"

What was that thing in her throat? Why couldn't she swallow? Why couldn't she breathe? What the hell…. Why did it taste like plastic? Why did her chest feel so heavy? Why…, she needed to breathe… right now… She couldn't breathe…

"We need to get that tube out otherwise she'll choke..."

"Do you think she's ready?"

"Only one way to find out."

Something was pulled from her throat and the sensation made her retch. She gagged and coughed, her eyes firmly closed and her hands clenched into fists. For a few seconds she felt nothing. No air. No tube. No…. nothing.

And then she inhaled.

Her chest hurt. Her throat hurt.

But the oxygen felt good.

She wanted to open her eyes, wanted to see… but she was tired and quietly drifted back off into the silence.

~()~

It was dark when she opened her eyes and she blinked. She didn't know where she was. The bed she was in was not her own. This was not her room. The soft, steady beeping drew her attention and she turned her head. Lights and numbers lit up on a machine that was attached to her chest. A drip was attached to her hand and she carefully raised her arm to see the butterfly needle taped to her skin.

"Captain?"

She knew that voice.

Sharon blinked and from the shadows of her room, a face emerged. Julio carefully approached the bed, relief etched across his face, and he smiled when he saw the brunette woman awake.

"It's good to see you," he said.

Sharon opened her mouth to speak but flinched. Her throat hurt. She couldn't speak. Words formed on the tip of her tongue but did not leave her mouth. Big green eyes looked at the man standing at the side of her bed and Julio briefly covered Sharon's hand with his own.

"It's ok," he reassured her. "You don't have to say anything."

Her eyes asked the question instead. What happened?

"You were shot," Julio answered. "Bullet perforated your bowl and fragments ripped through your internal organs. The surgeons needed a long time to fix it." He swallowed. "It was touch and go for a little while." He saw the way she looked at him. "It's been a week, ma'am."

Sharon looked down at her abdomen. She wore a hospital gown. One of those hideous blue and white checked ones that was tied around the back. She didn't dare lift the gown to see what Julio had described. The pain told her more than enough. She looked back at the man standing next to her bed.

"Everyone's been very concerned, Ma'am," Julio continued. "Rusty's been here round the clock. I sent him home to take a shower. He should be back soon. He'll be glad to see you're awake."

Julio was about to sit back down when Sharon saw the flash again, felt the hand on her shoulder. The face suddenly seemed to clear and she gasped quietly as she looked at the detective making his way back to his chair in the corner of the room.

"Julio…"

He turned when he heard his name. "Yes?"

"You…" Sharon put her hand on her own shoulder. "It was you…." She swallowed. Her throat was dry. "You pulled…"

Julio shook his head and sank back into his chair. From there he sent Sharon a smile. "You would have done the same for me."


	21. (Brenda Leigh Johnson)

**21\. "You might like this"**

Officer involved shootings were always messy. Emotions would run high and Sharon always found herself disappointed when she discovered that the officer in question had been wrong. Sometimes it was just poor judgement, which was something she could understand, but there were occasions where the acts were deliberate and Sharon could not forgive someone who disgraced the uniform and the name of the LAPD in such a way.

She rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the paperwork in front of her. It was almost midnight and she was still at her desk. The case appeared, at first glance, to be clear-cut but once she'd dug a little deeper Sharon had found that things were not quite as simple as she had thought they were. She had begun to unravel a web of lies and intrigue that wouldn't look out of place in a Hollywood movie and the reputation of two good officers were on the line because of the behaviour of a third and she could not find the last piece of evidence that would help her build a solid case.

There was a knock on the door and Sharon lifted her tired head to call in whoever was waiting outside. The door opened when she said "enter" and to Sharon's surprise, Brenda Leigh Johnson walked in. Sharon raised an eyebrow. Didn't Brenda have a home to go to? Her FBI Agent husband was probably waiting for her. It was then that Sharon noticed Brenda was wearing jeans, her oatmeal coloured cardigan and a white t-shirt. So she had been home, she concluded. And now she was back.

"What are you still doin' here, Capt'n?" Brenda asked and leaned back against the now closed door.

"Major Crimes aren't the only division that work overtime, Chief," Sharon answered. She would have added a smile but she was tired and she didn't have the energy. She glanced at her watch. One minute past midnight. In nine hours she was supposed to inform the DA about what to do next and the best she could come up was…. Well, nothing.

"I heard about your case," Brenda said. She looked at the pile of paperwork on Sharon's desk, the crime scene photos, and the statements. It didn't look too different from Brenda's desk at the moment.

Sharon shook her head. "I doubt there's anyone who hasn't heard about it."

Brenda slowly crossed the office and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Sharon's desk. They were leather and the material felt cold against Brenda's skin. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She glanced down at her trusted tote bag that she'd left by het feet. The blue folder was sticking out a little and Brenda chewed the inside of her cheek.

"What brings you here, Chief?" Sharon wanted to know and studied Brenda from behind her glasses. "If this has anything to do with the case from the other day…"

Brenda shook her head. "I'm not here for that." She bent down and pulled the folder out of her bag and pushed it across the desk toward Sharon. "You might like this."

Sharon curiously picked up the folder. It was standard LAPD issue and the case number was written in the top right corner with a thick blank marker. She glanced down to the bottom left corner looking for a date but only found a small scribble. She slowly looked back up at Brenda and narrowed her eyes. She didn't open the file, instead her fingers lay splayed out across the cover.

"What is this?" she wanted to know.

Brenda shifted in your seat. "Your answers."

"What do you mean?" Sharon sounded surprised.

"People talk," Brenda just said. She leaned across the desk and pulled the folder from under Sharon's hand and opened it. On the first page a lanky teenage boy with dark eyes and dark hair stared into the camera. There was something haunting about his eyes and when Sharon looked a little closer, she realised she had seen that face before. In fact, she had seen it earlier that morning, in an interview room.

"Where did you find this?" she breathlessly asked when she realised she was looking at a juvenile criminal record. When she turned the page and saw the word expunged stamped across the top, she knew Brenda had given her something she herself could not have gotten hold off.

"This record was expunged. There shouldn't even be a copy of it," she continued and tore her eyes away from the paper. "All we found was the mention of a juvenile record but nowhere did it say what it was about. How did you get this?"

Brenda shifted in her seat. "Michael Harrison's grandmother gave it to me."

Sharon's eyes widened. "What?"

"Your suspect's grandmother gave it to me."

Sharon stared at Brenda in shock. "How did she even…"

Brenda's eyes found Sharon's and swallowed. "A few months after I came to LA, I investigated a double homicide up in the Hollywood Hills. Officer Harrison, as he was known at the time, was the responding officer who called it in." She picked at her fingernails and chewed her lip. "As we investigated further, we uncovered a link between Officer Harrison and our victims and it turns out the female victim was an ex-girlfriend. He wasn't involved in her death but we found some evidence suggesting that during their relationship, Harrison was physically abusive towards her. His grandmother called me one night and asked to meet. She had raised Harrison after his mother died and she gave me that file." Brenda held Sharon's gaze and they shared a look. "I will always remember her words."

"What were they?"

"Maybe someday you can save a life."

Sharon felt a cold chill creep down her spine and she shivered. She looked away from Brenda and back at the file in front of her. "What did he do?"

"He beat a boy in his class within an inch of his life when he was just sixteen," Brenda answered softly. "The boy never recovered and was left with permanent brain damage. He will require care for the rest of his life."

"Harrison's grandmother knew he was a ticking time bomb," Sharon sighed and Brenda nodded.

"And eventually that bomb went off."

She pushed herself out of the chair and started for the door but turned before leaving. "Nail this asshole, Capt'n. I'm afraid that if you don't get him now, Major Crimes eventually will. And if anyone has the right to nail this guy, it's you."

She flashed Sharon a smile before leaving the office and closing the door behind her. The sudden silence felt a little overwhelming and Sharon released a deep sigh before leaning across her desk and picking up her phone. She dialled a number and held the receiver between her shoulder and ear as she turned the pages of the file in front of her.

"Sargent?" she said when she heard Elliot's trusted voice on the other side. "I'm sorry to wake you but we've got something." She'd reached the final page. "We finally have something we can use to bring Harrison down."


	22. (Andrea Hobbs, 3)

**22\. I'll wait**

Afterwards the doctor said that it would only have been a matter of time. A heart that had been so damaged during the first attack would not recover and would always remain weak. It meant that his heart would always be vulnerable and when disaster struck on a Sunday morning just after four am on the bathroom floor, there was nothing that could be done. The heart went into arrest and no amount of CPR and shocks could kick start it again. And she'd sat on her knees, stunned, next to the man she loved and watched through a blur of tears as the paramedics wrapped his body up and took him away. What she was left with were empty hands that had so desperately tried to bring him back to life and the remnants of equipment sprawled across her bathroom floor.

She couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye. The funeral was held on a beautifully sunny day and birds whistled in the trees surrounding the graveyard as she walked in front of the coffin carried by those she considered her family and friends. No one spoke. Their faces were solemn. At the sight of the ocean of blue, the dozens and dozens of officers who had come to pay their respects, she broke down and her knees buckled just as she went to sit down. Rusty had been there to catch her and he clutched her hand all the way through the service. From the row behind Sharon Raydor, Andrea Hobbs looked on as her friend mourned the death of Andy Flynn.

She would think she could hear his footsteps in the hallway, could still feel his breath on her neck when she slept. Sometimes she would sit up and think she could hear his key in the door but she was only ever greeted by silence. Hours faded into days and she had to find a new kind of normal in a house they had not long bought together; a house that still held memories in every room, still carried the echo of nights of laughter and even the occasional fight. She would find his shirts in the hamper and hold them for a few moments longer before deciding she couldn't wash them yet because the last little remnant of him would be gone.

People came and went in those first few days. She didn't even know how they all had a key to her front door but they brought food, made sure her fridge was stocked and took some of her clothes to the dry cleaners. No one touched his stuff. No one wanted to be the one that changed or broke something. They all carefully walked around in her world filled with grief but as the days went on, the said less and less. What could they say to a grief stricken woman? There were few words of comfort. Eventually they mostly just quietly came and went.

Andrea turned the key and stepped into the house. She listened but heard nothing and made her way to the kitchen. "Sharon?"

There was no answer and she opened the fridge, put in the leftovers from last night's dinner and a fresh bottle of orange juice, checked the dish washer and took out the clean dishes and put them away. She wiped down the counters, walked to the window and opened it, inviting a soft late summer breeze into the house. She picked up yesterday's paper, a few wrappers and some paper and threw them in the trash.

Andrea then made her way to the bedroom and found the door open but she could not see Sharon. The door to the ensuite was closed and she could hear the shower run. Heaving a sigh, Andrea crossed the room and carefully tried the door. Not to her surprise she found it was locked.

"Sharon?" she called and over the sound of the shower running she could hear the soft, quiet sobs. A sharp sting of pain in her chest and she tried the door again, feeling a little more desperate. It had been two weeks and she struggled to recognise the Sharon Raydor she had once known. She'd tried for Sharon to let her in but Sharon had closed off from almost everyone around her, including Rusty, and seemed to prefer to just be alone.

Andrea understood better than anyone the bitterness of grief. Losing her husband before he was forty had changed her view on the world and it had taken her a long time to come to terms with the unfairness of his death. But better than anyone else she knew what it felt like to lose the person you shared every day of your life with, your best friend and as well as your fighting partner, the person who makes you smile and who knows you better than anyone else. Being confronted by the emptiness they leave behind was overwhelming and Andrea was determined for Sharon not to fall into the same black hole she had fallen into.

"How long have you been in there? Is the water still warm?" Andrea checked her watch. It was a little after six o'clock. Rusty said he'd briefly spoken to his mother on the phone around five and she had sounded flat and tired. At worst Sharon had been sitting in her shower crying for about an hour.

The shower was switched off and she heard soft footsteps on the other side. "Sharon? I'm right here. Talk to me."

There was a silence that lasted maybe ten seconds but then the door opened and Sharon appeared, wrapped up in a towel. Her eyes were red and puffy and Andrea's heart ached. It was like she was staring at a reflection of herself; the same grief and hurt that had been etched across her own face was now etched across Sharon's.

Sharon didn't make eye contact with Andrea but stared at the floor instead. "I can't talk. I'm not ready."

"I know," Andrea quietly answered and stepped aside so Sharon could walk into the bedroom. But the fact Sharon had just answered her question was more than she had done recently and it filled Andrea with hope and she watched the brunette as she crawled onto the bed and lay down with her back towards Andrea.

"I know better than anyone that you're not ready," she said as she slowly started for the door and turned around in the doorway before leaving. "But Sharon, I just want you to know… I'll wait."

She was about to close the door when Sharon called her name. "Andrea?"

"Yes?" Andrea waited, the door handle still in her hand. She looked at Sharon and the older woman looked over her shoulder. Sad green eyes found Andrea's.

"Can you stay?" Sharon whispered. "Please?"

"Of course," Andrea smiled and she walked back into the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Sharon. "I'll stay as long as you need me to."


	23. (Buzz Watson)

**23."It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look"**

Every Division was required to handle a certain amount of cold cases every year. Most of the time the case would remain just that; cold. But sometimes fresh eyes made a big difference and new leads were discovered and sometimes, a case was closed.

The Cold Case Division operated from the floor above Major Crimes but the storage for all the boxes of evidence was down in the basement. Not many people came down here and Sharon hadn't seen the inside of this particular room for over fifteen years. There was something soul destroying about seeing rows and rows of boxes with case numbers written across the front, knowing that each of these was still an open case. Murder, kidnap, rape... out there so many people were still waiting for answers and the evidence that could potentially bring them those answers was locked in this stuffy room.

Sharon heaved a sigh and looked at Buzz. He had brought his trusted camera down here and was filming the rows of boxes. He followed the numbers slowly, focusing on each for a couple of seconds before moving on to the next one. When he had reached the last one he lowered the camera and looked at Sharon. There was sadness in his eyes and he looked lost.

"How many boxes are down here?" His voice was soft and hollow.

Sharon sighed. "Too many."

"Where do we start?" Buzz wondered as he let his eyes trail over the rows of boxes.

They were standing by the boxes related to cases from the late eighties and early nineties. It felt like a lifetime ago. But to those affected by the crimes, time hadn't moved on the same way it had for everyone else. Buzz knew that better than anyone else.

"I think we should just take one. We can stand here all day trying to decide which one of these cases is more important than the next. All of these cases matter," Sharon said and she placed her hand on one of the dusty lids. The seal that had been attached to the box had been broken once and she glanced at the little note attached to it to see that it had been done in the year 2000. Her heart sank at the thought of this case having sat here for seventeen years and yet there were still cases here even older than that.

Buzz slowly walked down the row and eventually held still about six or seven steps away from Sharon. She watched as he studied one of the labels attached to a box and then Buzz picked the box up by its handles and gently lifted it off the shelf. Dust circled up in the air between them and Sharon felt her nose twitch before she sneezed. She excused her and then her and Buzz walked down to the table at the other end of the room.

"Do you need me to help?" Sharon asked when she noticed the obvious strain in Buzz's arms and the slightly odd shape of the box suggesting it was rather full but Buzz shook his head.

"It's alright, Captain. It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look."

Buzz put the box down on the table. It was made of simple aluminium, like the one in their interview room, with a plain, dated desk lamp that gave off just enough light for Sharon to read the words "Parkinson Homicide" on the box. She observed the date. May 13th, 1989. Her eyes met Buzz's over the table and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little pocket knife.

Sharon reached for the tag on the side of the box and felt a sharp pang of hurt when she realised that the box had been sealed in 1991 and had not been opened since. The seal across the lid was still intact and there was no signature on the tag other than the one from the officer who had put it there. She took a pen from the inside of her jacket and took a deep breath before signing and dating the tag. When she was finished she looked and Buzz and he cut through the seal.

Sharon lifted the lid and peered inside the box. On top, in a plastic evidence bag, lay what looked like a children's blanket and her heart shattered in her chest. With trembling hands she picked up the bag and held it to the light. There was a smudge of blood on the blanket and Sharon's green eyes narrowed a little.

"Captain, is that what I think it is?" Buzz asked. His voice trembled a little bit and Sharon nodded.

"Yes, it is."

"Are you sure this is the one we should take?"

Sharon carefully put the bag back in the box and resisted looking at the other items. She would do that when she brought the box back to the Murder Room. She carefully replaced the lid and looked up at Buzz.

"This is the one," she vowed and slowly looked around the room. Buzz picked up the box and carried it to the door. Sharon followed him and put a hand on his arm just before they left. Their eyes met.

"And I don't care how long it takes, Buzz. This box won't be coming back down here."

23."It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look"

Every Division was required to handle a certain amount of cold cases every year. Most of the time the case would remain just that; cold. But sometimes fresh eyes made a big difference and new leads were discovered and sometimes, a case was closed.

The Cold Case Division operated from the floor above Major Crimes but the storage for all the boxes of evidence was down in the basement. Not many people came down here and Sharon hadn't seen the inside of this particular room for over fifteen years. There was something soul destroying about seeing rows and rows of boxes with case numbers written across the front, knowing that each of these was still an open case. Murder, kidnap, rape... out there so many people were still waiting for answers and the evidence that could potentially bring them those answers was locked in this stuffy room.

Sharon heaved a sigh and looked at Buzz. He had brought his trusted camera down here and was filming the rows of boxes. He followed the numbers slowly, focusing on each for a couple of seconds before moving on to the next one. When he had reached the last one he lowered the camera and looked at Sharon. There was sadness in his eyes and he looked lost.

"How many boxes are down here?" His voice was soft and hollow.

Sharon sighed. "Too many."

"Where do we start?" Buzz wondered as he let his eyes trail over the rows of boxes.

They were standing by the boxes related to cases from the late eighties and early nineties. It felt like a lifetime ago. But to those affected by the crimes, time hadn't moved on the same way it had for everyone else. Buzz knew that better than anyone else.

"I think we should just take one. We can stand here all day trying to decide which one of these cases is more important than the next. All of these cases matter," Sharon said and she placed her hand on one of the dusty lids. The seal that had been attached to the box had been broken once and she glanced at the little note attached to it to see that it had been done in the year 2000. Her heart sank at the thought of this case having sat here for seventeen years and yet there were still cases here even older than that.

Buzz slowly walked down the row and eventually held still about six or seven steps away from Sharon. She watched as he studied one of the labels attached to a box and then Buzz picked the box up by its handles and gently lifted it off the shelf. Dust circled up in the air between them and Sharon felt her nose twitch before she sneezed. She excused her and then her and Buzz walked down to the table at the other end of the room.

"Do you need me to help?" Sharon asked when she noticed the obvious strain in Buzz's arms and the slightly odd shape of the box suggesting it was rather full but Buzz shook his head.

"It's alright, Captain. It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look."

Buzz put the box down on the table. It was made of simple aluminium, like the one in their interview room, with a plain, dated desk lamp that gave off just enough light for Sharon to read the words "Parkinson Homicide" on the box. She observed the date. May 13th, 1989. Her eyes met Buzz's over the table and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little pocket knife.

Sharon reached for the tag on the side of the box and felt a sharp pang of hurt when she realised that the box had been sealed in 1991 and had not been opened since. The seal across the lid was still intact and there was no signature on the tag other than the one from the officer who had put it there. She took a pen from the inside of her jacket and took a deep breath before signing and dating the tag. When she was finished she looked and Buzz and he cut through the seal.

Sharon lifted the lid and peered inside the box. On top, in a plastic evidence bag, lay what looked like a children's blanket and her heart shattered in her chest. With trembling hands she picked up the bag and held it to the light. There was a smudge of blood on the blanket and Sharon's green eyes narrowed a little.

"Captain, is that what I think it is?" Buzz asked. His voice trembled a little bit and Sharon nodded.

"Yes, it is."

"Are you sure this is the one we should take?"

Sharon carefully put the bag back in the box and resisted looking at the other items. She would do that when she brought the box back to the Murder Room. She carefully replaced the lid and looked up at Buzz.

"This is the one," she vowed and slowly looked around the room. Buzz picked up the box and carried it to the door. Sharon followed him and put a hand on his arm just before they left. Their eyes met.

"And I don't care how long it takes, Buzz. This box won't be coming back down here."


	24. (Andy Flynn, 2)

**24\. "Just because"**

There were things she still had to get used to. The little things as well as the big things. The fact that on some nights when she came home from work late, dinner was waiting for her. Sometimes still on the stove, sometimes in the microwave. But it was always there. So was the soft, comforting touch of a hand covering her own when he could see that she was struggling or just because he was close to her and wanted to remind her without words that he was there. It was the way he looked at her sometimes… it overwhelmed her and surprised her, even after the length of time they had been together.

When you spend a long time living with someone who is more interested in alcohol and gambling, you get used to a sense of loneliness. You become used to always being put in second place, to never being quite important enough. She couldn't remember the amount of nights where she had waited up for Jack to come home, knowing full well that she wouldn't see him until the break of dawn or even at all. She created excuses for their children until they became too old to believe her lies about their father. Yet she never spoke badly in front of them, gave them the opportunity to form their own opinions of the man to whom she had once vowed that she would grow old with. Instead they had simply grown to be unhappy. And when you're unhappy long enough, you forget what real happiness feels like.

Sharon Raydor knew that now.

Sometimes things happen when you least expect it and growing to love Andy Flynn overtime was one of those things. But here they were, in the warmth and comfortable silence of her condo, her empty wineglass next to his preferred glass of water. This was a man who had also faced the choice between alcohol and happiness and he had, eventually, chosen happiness over the buzz of alcohol but not until after he had lost it all. Andy knew what it was like when someone who loved him felt second best and Sharon had come to see with her own eyes how much he was still trying to correct his mistakes. Andy Flynn was a different man to Jack Raydor and she loved them each differently.

Sharon turned her head to look at the man sitting beside her on the couch. The movie they were watching on this rare evening where they weren't working was about halfway finished and Andy had let her choose. She knew he wasn't always keen to watch whatever she chose but he always tried to be interested, always tried to give her choice a chance.

Her eyes drifted to the flowers on the sideboard on the other side of the living room. They had been waiting for her when she came home tonight and she had not only been greeted by the brightness of their colours but also the smell of home cooked food and her favourite wine. The note attached to the flowers had only two words written on it.

"Just because."

Sharon looked back at Andy. "Just because," she said softly and he looked up in surprise. "Just because why?"

He smiled. It was that smile that had somehow managed to captivate her heart. A heart she had believed to be too closed off and maybe a little too old and too cynical for love. Oh how wrong she had been…

"Because sometimes that is all there is to say," Andy answered and reached for Sharon's hand. "And because the card really isn't big enough for all the reasons why."

Sharon slowly lay her head down on his shoulder, felt his fingers as they threaded her hair, softly stroking the back of her neck and the top of her head. A soft, comforting touch that she didn't even know she had missed until Andy gave it to her. There were a lot of things she didn't know she had missed until recently and she was glad to have been given another opportunity to discover them.

"But most of all," Andy's voice was close to her ear and so soft, it was barely a whisper. "Because I love you."


	25. (Louie Provenza, 4)

**AN – This chapter is a continuation to the storyline that was started in Chapter 17**

 **25\. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."**

There is always that one case you can't forget.

Sometimes it's the one who got away. Or the one who got under your skin. Or the file in the bottom drawer of your desk that is collecting dust but remains unsolved; the file you flick through every few months in the hope that somehow you see something you've missed the other times before. And there is the one that you forgot about, for a while at least, until it comes back to haunt you. And it always comes when you least expect it. Sometimes more than twenty years down the line.

Being signed up for sensitivity training was somewhat of a joke around the LAPD. It was a punishment in every sense of the word and Louie Provenza doubted whether any man – because, let's face it, they didn't send women here- ever actually changed his ways just because some sensitivity training officer told them to. As far as he was concerned, people should spend more time focusing on closing cases than on the latest updated version of correct terminology and political correctness.

It seemed that lately, Internal Affairs was on some kind of witch hunt when it came to Detectives working Homicide. Every other week their Lieutenant would inform them of yet another poor unfortunate soul who had to report to the office of the sensitive training officer and this week, Provenza and his partner George Andrews appeared to have drawn the short straw, which was why they found themselves on the third floor of the building, lurking outside a conference room they knew would hold about four hours of boredom.

"Who's in charge of this crap anyway?" George growled as he scrunched up the paper cup he had just taken from the water cooler in the corner of the little waiting room.

Provenza shrugged. "Someone with too much time on their hands, I'd say."

"Is this classed as overtime? It's Friday evening! I should be home right now having dinner."

Provenza gave George a sideways glance. "You can't cook."

George grinned. "That's why I make the wife do all the cooking."

"Comments like that are exactly why you two gentlemen find yourselves down here on a Friday evening," came an icy voice from down the corridor.

Provenza looked past his partner to see to whom the voice belonged to and was confronted by a slender woman with long, auburn hair. Piercing green eyes behind dark rimmed spectacles had fixed on the two men standing in the waiting area. The elegant, and most likely expensive, tailored black suit and stiletto heels only added to the woman's severe appearance and Provenza had a hard time believing this was the woman teaching them about sensitivity. She had about as much warmth as the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

George was the first one to find his voice. "Who the hell are you?"

The brunette narrowed her eyes behind her glasses and then glanced down at the clipboard as if to determine which one of the two men was which. When she looked back up, her expression had hardened even more. "Lieutenant Sharon Raydor. I'm the reason you're down here, Sargent."

"Are you doing the training?" George pressed but beside him, Provenza felt a sudden shiver run down his spine.

This couldn't be….

"No, Detective, I am not the one providing you with what is obviously a much needed training session on sensitivity," Raydor answered coolly. "And I suggest you watch your tone before I add insubordination and disrespecting a senior officer to the complaint." She marked something on her clipboard. Provenza could hear the pen scratch across the paper.

He watched her a little more closely. If his memory was right, and it was hardly every wrong, then it had been just over twenty years. He tried to see if time had left marks on the woman's face. A few faint lines here and there. It was hard to really see without making it too obvious that he was staring. But it was almost impossible to imagine this woman as anything other than an ice cold bitch and yet… he knew.

Their paths had crossed before.

The door on the other side of the waiting room opened and a blonde woman poked her head around. She seemed bright, too bright, and when she smiled, Provenza knew the smile was fake. His stomach turned as he nudged his partner towards the door.

"I need two minutes," he said when George didn't move. "Go on!"

"You're leaving me alone with her?" George seemed slightly panicked.

"We're Homicide Detectives. If she kills you before I get there, I'll know where to start," Provenza snapped and gave his partner a bigger shove.

Raydor watched the exchange with a bemused expression on her face. The reputation of the two men in front of her proceeded them and this wasn't the first time she had seen their names written down on a report. She had come down here because she had wanted to see with her own eyes how these two were dragged into a sensitivity training session she had ordered. Sharon Raydor wasn't at all ashamed to admit that she had come to gloat.

"Something the matter, Sargent?" she questioned when Provenza didn't follow his partner into the room.

Provenza swallowed. It seemed that although he recognised Sharon Raydor, she didn't recognise him. He wondered how much she still remembered of that night, whether her memories of it were still as clear and sharp as his. She had been a different woman then and he had never been able to shake the expression of panic and fear on her face. The longer he looked at her, the more he saw the woman from that fateful night. She was still in there, hidden behind whatever mask she had chosen to wear in between these walls. There was no way she was gone. Those kinds of things never left a person. They hadn't left him. That was how he knew they hadn't left her.

He slowly took a step towards her. "April 4th, 1981."

Sharon Raydor stared at the man in front of her and almost let her clipboard slide through her fingers. "What the…"

"You made a call that night," Provenza slowly said.

She shook her head. "How do you…"

"The patrol officer who walked into your house had been on the job for a few years, was keen to work his way up the ranks. He was the one you let into your daughter's bedroom before anyone else did. He was the one who called for help." Provenza took a deep breath when he noticed the way Sharon Raydor's hands were shaking and he instantly felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's…." The words wouldn't come out. Sharon didn't look at the man standing in front of her. Someone she had considered a stranger until a few moments ago knew her secret. They shared something hardly anyone else knew. Something so devastating and intimate…. The fact she stood in front of him now… It felt surreal.

"It was the case that got me into Homicide," Provenza softly said. The case in itself hadn't been that different from several other missing children's cases he had worked since then. But this had been his first. The first where he believed that the child was dead, the first time he had to sit down and tell parents that although they would do their best, they should expect the worst. It was the first time he watched a mother fall apart in front of him, begging him to do everything in his power to get her little girl back. In that moment he had first questioned if being a police officer was actually what he wanted to be. But then the determination to find her had convinced him that this was what he was meant to be doing. The missing Raydor girl was what had cemented his faith in doing what he did.

"The file remains in my desk until this day." He swallowed. "I didn't know you were with the LAPD."

It was true. It had never been disclosed to him that the girls' mother was a police officer. He knew her father was a lawyer about to make it big in some law firm; it added to the pressure because everyone was watching. He would never forget the tormented look the woman gave him when he left the house; he had effectively told her her child was dead.

"Not many people know about that night." There was a tremor in Sharon's voice. "I didn't want it to overshadow…" She swallowed. The lump in her throat didn't shift. "I would appreciate it if…" Her eyes drifted to the door.

"George?" Provenza asked. "Don't worry about him. He knows nothing. I never told anyone. And I never will. Not because of you but because…"

Because he didn't want to be seen as the coward who had once doubted himself if being a cop was what he wanted to be. And because sometimes, things are better left unsaid. Grief is only understood when it's shared.

Raydor nodded. "Thank you."

"I should probably go in," Provenza said and flashed a little smile. "Take care, Lieutenant."

"The same to you, Sargent."

When Provenza closed the door to the training room behind him and slipped into his seat, he looked up to see Sharon Raydor watch him through the window. After a few moments she turned away and disappeared and he looked at the blonde woman who was about to start their session.

He listened to every word.


	26. (Ricky Raydor)

**Note:** We know it's been forever but there is so much going on in life at the moment, it sometimes really feels as if writing is being pushed into the last position. Trying to slowly crawl back up and make some progress!

* * *

 **26\. "Try Some"**

Sharon opened the door to the condo and instantly noticed that the lights were on. She had switched them off that morning before going to work. She tensed up, her hand shot down to the gun she kept holstered on her hip before relaxing in the thought that an intruder would not leave the lights on. Still clutching her keys she stepped into the condo.

"Rusty?" she called, not sure if she actually expected an answer since Rusty had told her he would be spending the weekend at Gus' apartment.

"Surprise!"

Sharon jumped when a figure rounded the corner to the kitchen and she was wrapped up in a strong embrace. The feeling of long arms around her, the scent of the cologne… she knew without looking that it was her son and Sharon relaxed into Ricky's hug and rested her head on his shoulder. After a few seconds he stepped away from her and she looked up to meet his gaze. He had that triumphant twinkle in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?!" Sharon asked in surprise. "I thought you weren't coming till tomorrow."

"I caught an earlier flight because I wanted to surprise you," Ricky beamed. "Did it work?"

"Yes," Sharon grinned. "It worked."

Ricky fist pumped the air in satisfaction. "Yes!"

Sharon looked around. Ricky had made himself at home. His leather jacket had been draped over the back of the couch, his shoes abandoned next to the coffee table and the TV was on, showing the end of what looked like an old episode of Law & Order. Sharon couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of that show being on her TV right now. She had spent most of her day in a courtroom.

"What is that smell?" she then wondered out loud as the scent coming from the kitchen penetrated her nose.

"Dinner," Ricky announced and Sharon arched an eyebrow in surprise. "And dessert."

"Who is she and when do I meet her?" Sharon used her interrogation voice and noticed the way her son's cheeks flushed a little pink.

"What do you mean?"

"Richard William Raydor, for as long as I have known you, you have possessed the questionable ability to burn even boiling water," Sharon answered. "You can't cook. The closest you get to producing anything edible is reheating left overs in the microwave. So, what's her name?"

Ricky looked suitably embarrassed. "Her name is Eliza. And you're meeting her tomorrow."

"What?"

"She's from LA and she's visiting her parents for the weekend. I asked her to join us for lunch tomorrow."

Sharon smiled. "My little boy, all grown up. Now, what's going on in here?"

She followed Ricky into the kitchen and watched in surprise as her son stirred a pot of what looked like home-made pasta sauce, complete with fresh herbs and spices. But what drew her attention was something that was hidden underneath a tea towel and when she went to reach to lift it, Ricky stepped out in front of her and stopped her.

"No," he said. "Not like that."

"What?" Sharon asked.

"Close your eyes," he instructed her and Sharon stared at him incredulously.

"I'm your mother, not your five year old nephew."

"I don't care. Just close your eyes."

Sharon heaved a sigh and did as her son asked. She closed her eyes and almost instantly her other senses took over. The pasta sauce seemed to smell just a little bit stronger and she listened as she heard and then felt Ricky step past her. She could hear the tea towel being removed, heard how it dropped back on the kitchen counter with a faint little thud. She recognised the sound of a blade against porcelain and then, for a few seconds, there was only silence before she became aware of Ricky's hand close to her face.

"Try some," he prompted her and Sharon took a bite of whatever it was he was holding out in front of her.

Moments later, her eyes snapped open.

"Is that…"

She spun on her heel and looked at the item that had been hidden under the tea towel. There, with a small piece now missing, stood an elegant looking sponge cake. The filling was made with fresh lemons and it was one of the best things Sharon had ever tasted. In disbelief, she stared at her son, the one person she would never have allowed in a kitchen up until now.

"Did you make this?!" she exclaimed when she stared at the cake on the plate. It was as if she was looking at an image from her past. It seemed perfect.

Ricky nodded proudly. "Is it as you remembered?"

Sharon turned to look at her son and she could see the anticipation on his face. Her heart swelled with pride when she realised this was something he had done especially for her. "Exactly as I remembered. And you know how long I've been trying to make one just like the one your grandmother used to make!"

Ricky beamed as he watched his mother's face express the joy and surprise. "It took me a couple of attempts to get it right but I think I finally got it."

"You sure did," Sharon said as she went to take another small piece of the cake. She gave her son a sideways glance. "And I can't wait to meet this girlfriend of yours. She sounds like she's something special."

"That she is," Ricky agreed and Sharon noticed the way his eyes lit up, the way the smile tugged at his cheeks and how his face just seemed to change. It was clear that her boy was in love and Sharon was excited about seeing the girl who had managed to finally tame Ricky Raydor's heart. She put another piece of cake in her mouth, mesmerized by just how much it tasted like her childhood.

"Stop eating that cake or you'll ruin your dinner."

Sharon openly laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day where you would tell me that."

"Life is full of surprises," Ricky quipped and Sharon pointed at the cake.

"It sure is."


	27. (Sharon Beck)

**27\. "Drive Safely"**

There were people in this world who would never cease to amaze her. The woman sitting across from her was one of those people and Sharon Raydor watched her companion, if you could call her that, closely. She watched the way she picked up her coffee cup and tried to spy the signs of a tremor in an unsteady hand. She found her eyes narrowing when the sleeve on the woman's top slid up revealing a pale forearm. She involuntarily looked for needle marks the same way she had tried to find the scent of smoke and cigarettes on the woman's coat when they met outside the coffee shop's entrance.

She found nothing.

As unlikely as it seemed, as impossible as she had once believed it to be, it seemed that Sharon Beck had finally changed her ways. And Sharon didn't know if it was because she was finally able to see that she had been given another chance, a chance to do right by the life growing inside her compared to the life she had almost singlehandedly ruined already, or because…. Or because maybe she was just that kind of a person.

It was hard to associate the Sharon Beck she saw now, with her neatly brushed blonde hair and simple yet elegant white shirt that clung around her swollen stomach, the nice light blue jeans and the white canvas slippers, with the woman who had once sat on the other end of a prison screen and had asked her teenage son if he was prepared to sell himself on the street again so she could make bail.

Sharon wondered if the other Sharon felt that shame still, too.

"I'm glad you decided to see me today," Sharon Beck said.

Even her voice sounded different, Sharon Raydor thought. She had watched quietly from the side lines as Rusty came to terms with the fact that his mother was having another baby and that things were about to change. She had tried not to influence his decisions, only to guide them, and seeing how his initial anger subsided and was replaced by something else was a testament to Rusty's good character. The longer she looked at the woman sitting across from her, the less she recognised the woman she had once met inside a prison.

"So am I," Sharon agreed. "How are you feeling? You don't have long left, right?"

"Another seven weeks," was the answer. A gentle hand was placed upon the growing bump. "I can't wait to meet her." Then she looked up and blue eyes met green.

It was a startling experience, realising she no longer knew the woman sitting across the table from her. The woman she had judged for all her bad decisions and inconsiderate choices, for all her lies and her inability to put her child first. That woman, that same selfish and broken person, sat across her now cherishing a new life growing inside of her as she drank decaf coffee. This was the woman who had not missed a doctor's appointment whereas before she barely remembered to brush her teeth.

Sharon Raydor believed that people were capable of change. Some more than others, perhaps, and the circumstances had to be right. She had seen people turn their lives around, had seen what the power of believing in oneself could do. If Andy Flynn had managed to walk away from an alcohol addiction that had destroyed his family and almost destroyed his career… Fritz Howard had done the same. He too had turned his back on addiction and never looked back. Two men Sharon admired a great deal. And now here sat a woman who had done the same and Sharon knew she still faced more scrutiny than either of those two men ever would.

So she stopped looking for the tremors or the needle marks but instead just looked – and found- the light pink flush on the other Sharon's cheek, the joy in her voice as she talked about the future and inquired about Rusty, when she told Sharon how proud she was that Rusty had found happiness with Gus. Sharon Raydor didn't look for the broken, selfish, arrogant woman in an orange prison jumpsuit. Instead she looked for a mother who had been lucky enough to be given another chance.

When they parted ways, two drinks and a long conversation later, Sharon didn't feel a reluctance when she was pulled into a quick and slightly awkward embrace. She returned the gesture, felt the swell of the other woman's stomach against her own, and then stepped back.

"Take care of yourself," she said. "And if there's anything I can do…"

"You'll come see us, right? When she's born?"

She smiled. "Of course."

Sharon Beck smiled too. "Drive safely, Sharon."

They were the words to resound in Sharon Raydor's head when moments later, a car sped down the intersection after ignoring a red light and drove at full speed into the passenger door of her sedan.

* * *

 _ **TBC...**_


	28. (Andrea Hobbs, 4)

**Note:** This chapter carries a little hint of a story we are currently working on and will soon be sharing with the world. Stay tuned!

* * *

 **28\. "Look Both Ways"**

Sharon looked at Andrea Hobbs sitting across the table from her. The casefile they had been discussing moments earlier lay in between their dinner plates. The conversation had stalled for a few moments as Andrea checked the text message that had just come through on her phone. Sharon's eyes drifted back to the file. It was an ongoing case, one she would most definitely be glad to leave behind her.

"So you're ready for your testimony tomorrow?" Andrea asked as she put her phone down next to her plate and folded her hands under the table. "You know how much rides on this, don't you?"

"I know," Sharon agreed and heaved a sigh. She knew that her testimony was a critical element in their case and she was acutely aware that it would most likely also lead to several more arrests. The pressure of that knowledge, as well as the threat she knew was hanging over her head because of it, was something she had not been able to avoid in the last few weeks. Even less so since an envelope containing a bullet with her name on it was delivered to the Major Crimes Division two days ago. It had changed everything.

"I know you rejected the option of giving your testimony in a closed court, Sharon, but after what happened the other day, I strongly advice that you reconsider your decision," Andrea urged. Her big blue eyes reflected concern. "This is your life we're talking about."

"Not my life but the life of an innocent seven year old boy who became a victim of something he never should have been part of," Sharon sternly answered. She shook her head. "I appreciate and understand your concern, Andrea, but I refuse to cower to threats. I want my testimony to take place in open court."

Andrea nodded. She had expected that answer. "Are you any closer to identifying the person or persons who sent you that bullet?"

Sharon shook her head. "The whole organisation is sticking together." She pressed her fingertips together and let her gaze drift out of the restaurant window to the street. Cars were parked on either side and people were coming and going, unaware of some of the dangers that lived within these city walls. "It is not the first time I have dealt with the far right. I'm sure it won't be the last."

"They're like cockroaches. You crush one and two more appear," Andrea sighed. She continued to look at Sharon, concern evident on her face. "Whatever you do, look both ways, Sharon. Be careful. Someone out there has their sights set on you and if this organisation is anything to go buy…"

"They won't hesitate to kill at the first opportunity they get," Sharon finished Andrea's sentence. Green eyes darkened with a hint of anger as she turned to look at the ADA sitting in front of her. She had known Andrea Hobbs a long time and they had been through a lot together. She considered the blonde a friend and she was aware Andrea was risking just as much, if not more, than she was by taking the far right skinhead who had butchered a seven year old child to trial. She knew she wasn't the only one getting death threats.

"How is that security detail coming along?"

"They won't even let me go to the toilet on my own," Andrea said and jerked her head towards the table on her right. Sharon watched. The man and woman who formed part of Andrea's round the clock protection looked like any other customer in here, were it not that each carried two guns and were in direct communication with the LAPD at all times. "Wherever I go, she goes. And he just follows me around and doesn't say much. Kinda creepy."

Sharon flashed a hint of a smile. "This will all be over soon and it will settle down. Sooner or later they will find something or someone else to focus on."

Andrea sighed. "I hope you're right, Sharon. Because living like this…" She didn't have to finish that sentence. Sharon understood.

"So, shall we order?" Sharon asked in an attempt to divert the conversation in a different direction. She picked up the menu and opened it.

Across the street, in one of the parked cars, he watched her. For a while his attention was focused on the blonde woman sharing the table with her but then he looked back at the real reason he was here. She looked calm, relaxed… completely unaware of what was lurking in the falling shadows outside. His hand slid down to the gun hidden behind his jeans and feeling the cold metal against his fingers felt strangely reassuring.

Tonight was not the night. But soon, it would be.


	29. (Louie Provenza, 5)

**Note:** This one shot ties in with a couple of others in this selection of one shots relating to the story of Sharon's missing daughter. There will be more connected to this particular storyline in future chapters!

* * *

 **29\. "Well, what do you want to do?"**

It wasn't unusual to get a phone call about a missing child. Not in a city like Oakland. Most of the time it involved children who had stayed out beyond their curfew, teenagers who had snuck out of their bedrooms so that they could make out with their boyfriends or girlfriends somewhere and occasionally it was a domestic dispute where parents were divorced and one parent had taken the child when they were not supposed to. Most of those cases ended within hours, sometimes a day or two. Most of them weren't the type of cases that gripped a person and would rob them of their breath and leave their hearts pounding in their chest.

But sometimes, there was a case that was different and walking into the small house in a relatively quiet suburban street, the blue and red lights of his patrol car a stark contrast against the early April morning sky, Officer Louis Provenza knew instantly that he had walked into something that wasn't going to end in just a few hours.

The child's mother was an attractive brunette with piercing green eyes. She wore flannel pyjama pants and a long sleeved white top, her dark hair bound back in a messy ponytail. The dark frame of her glasses formed a sharp contrast against the paleness of her skin. He saw the panic in her face and when she heard him enter, she turned to him and he saw the full extent of her grief. He braced himself.

"My little girl!" she screamed. "They took my little girl!"

The father seemed calmer but Provenza still detected a hint of worry as he attempted to sooth his wife. "Sssh, Sharon. Maybe she just got out of bed to get some water and wandered out of the house."

"Is that possible?" he asked. "Were there any doors unlocked?"

"No!" the mother insisted. "All the doors were locked."

He nodded and let his eyes wander around the room. Neat and tidy except for today's paper and a half full glass of water on the coffee table. Children's toys were neatly stacked in the corner, tidied away with care but not in a way that meant they were hidden from sight. There was a framed picture of a little girl on the wall. She matched the age and physical description he had been given by dispatch. This was the missing child.

Provenza turned to the child's father as the mother cried uncontrollably in his arms. "Where is your daughter;s bedroom, sir?" He silently prayed that the Missing Person;s Unit woulkd turn up soon. This wasn't what he'd signed up for.

The eharbrreaking sobs of the mother echoed in his eyes as he climbed the stairs and turned to the second room on the right as per the father's instructions. He slipped his hands in a pair of latex gloves and carefully pushed against the alreadt ajar door. It creaked a little as it opened further, revealing a bright children's nursery complete with handdrawn flowers and animals on the wall. His His eyes were drawn to the crib. The blankets had been pulled back and the emptiness stared back him.

The cool gust of air touching his face made him turn to the window. The curtains danced lazily in the morning breeze and Provenza approached, careful not to touch anything as he crossed the room. On the window ledge he saw the dark coloured smudge of what looked like blood and his heart sank. No two year old could have climbed up to this window and gotten out and to reassure himself he cast a quick glance down into the backyard, praying he wouldn't find the lifeless body of a toddler. All he saw was muddy grass.

There were signs of dirt on the beige coloured carpet, something that looked like half a foot print. Another one was a little closer to the crib.

He spun around when he heard the mother's voice from the doorway behind him. "Someone took her."

He swallowed. Confirming that suspicion would only make matters worse but what else could he possibly say? That her two year old daughter had just wandered out of her bedroom and disappeared out of a house where all the other doors and windows were locked? The evidence was right here, in front of both of them, and when the woman, Sharon, met his eyes, he couldn't lie.

"It would appear so," Provenza admitted. "Mrs…" He realised he didn't know her last name.

"Raydor," she finished his sentence, her voice flat.

"Mrs Raydor, I have called for reinforcement and they will be here soon. And we will do everything we can to find your little girl. Her name is Annie, right? That was her picture I saw downstairs, in the living room?"

Sharon Raydor nodded. "I took her only a couple of weeks ago to get it done."

"So it's recent. Good. I want you to get it for me and I will make sure it gets to every officer in the state of California, every news channel and every newspaper," Provenza vowed. He crossed the room but stopped short of taking the woman's hands into his. She was no longer shaking. What had come over her seemed like a strange sense of calm, at least for the time being, as she looked around the room with almost the same detailed eye he had done.

"I normally check on her before I go to bed but she'd been crying most of the night and had only just gone to sleep by eleven pm so I didn't want to go in and risk waking her," Sharon said quietly. "If I had…"

They had no time frame. Provenza knew it was just as likely Sharon Raydor would have found her daughter still asleep in her bed if she had gone into the room. He peeled off the gloves and reached out a tentative hand, placing it on the woman's arm. Through the open window he heard the sound of sirens wailing, of cars rapidly approaching. Soon the front lawn would be full of cops, forensic investigators and news crews. All hell would break loose.

"What do I do?" Sharon whispered.

"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked, causing the young mother to look up. He felt the strong need to protect her from what was about to happen.

"Excuse me?"

"In a few moments, this whole house is going to be full of people looking for evidence and answers. For the next few days, weeks or months, this won't feel like your home," he said softly. "There will be news crews on your lawn. Is there somewhere else you'd like to go? Family maybe? Somewhere you can process this in your own time without anybody bothering you."

"I know a few people," Sharon Raydor answered and she smiled warily. "Thank you, Officer…" She went to read the name on his uniform. "Officer Provenza."

He reached into his pocket and gave her his card. "I know I'm only a patrol officer but if there is anything I can do…" He held her gaze. "Call me."

Sharon Raydor never called.


	30. (Brenda Leigh Johnson, 2)

**Note:** So we have been gone for a very very long time. Largely because we are consumed by our day to day life and a little because of what has been happening in the world of Major Crimes. But we are slowly getting back to what we were doing so here are a couple more oneshots. This one starts at a very emotional point for most of us so... just be aware!

* * *

 **30\. "Don't Worry About Me"**

She knew death probably better than most ordinary people did. She had chosen death to be part of her daily life many years ago and until her Mama died, death had not scared her at all. It wasn't until her Mama was gone that she had come to view death in another way. Death was no longer the brutal, cruel or senseless thing that happened when people committed a crime. In that moment, death took on a different form. The form of something that took loved ones away. Her loved ones. Death looks and feels different when it claims someone you love.

Brenda hadn't felt that for a long time. Death had become less of a part of her life after leaving the LAPD. Her job as an investigator for the DA's office before moving to Washington had taken her out of the shadows of death and even her return to Los Angeles a little while ago had not changed that. Death had not really been a part of her life anymore.

Until now.

Because death had taken someone from her. Someone she cared about. Someone she loved. A friend. Someone who, once upon a time, had been more than that, even if they had never found a word to truly describe the sort of relationship they had.

Sharon Raydor was dead and Brenda found herself staring at her coffin at the front of the church. The service has ended ten minutes earlier and in a few moments Sharon's loved ones would carry her coffin to the car waiting outside to transfer to the cemetery. But in this moment, they were alone. Just her and Sharon. The last place Brenda had ever thought they'd find themselves together and alone was a church. But here they were.

Receiving the call and hearing Provenza's broken voice as he spoke the hollow words, "Sharon's gone..." Brenda wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forget that moment. She'd cried, silently. She didn't scream like she did when she found her Mama. She had just cried, the tears that rolled down her cheeks telling a silent story of love and loss.

Over the years Sharon had been a constant presence in her life and in the last few weeks, with Philip Stroh prominently back from wherever he had been hiding, this had only been the case more so. Sharon would call every other day. Sometimes with new information but usually just to talk. In a way they both needed a place to hide from what was happening around them and they both found a strange yet comfortable solace in those phone calls. It had been a long time since they'd last spent evenings on the phone and things were definitely not the same anymore now, but it had still felt familiar and safe and reassuring.

Brenda couldn't really grasp the fact that Sharon was gone. Maybe the real loss would hit her later because right now all she felt was a kind of numbness for which she didn't have a name. The woman who had antagonised her when they had first met but who had eventually become one of her most trusted allies and closest friends, was gone.

After Russel Taylor, Sharon was gone too. Brenda closed her eyes for a moment as she thought about one of the men she had seen sitting in one of the back rows during the funeral service. How was it possible that after all these years and all these changes, Will Pope had outlived both Sharon Raydor and Russel Taylor and was somehow still Chief of Police. Life was truly unfair.

"I don't know if I'm supposed to be sayin' anythin' in here," Brenda said and she looked around. She'd never been really comfortable in a church and over the years she'd stepped on the toes of the Catholic Church a few too many times to ever feel comfortable in a house of worship like this one again. She looked back at Sharon's coffin. "I couldn't have said it any better than the Lieutenant did up there. Good thing they asked him to do it because I doubt I could've even gotten the words out."

Brenda swallowed. The tears stung behind her eyes and she bit her lip. "I wish I'd answered your last call. I guess I'll always be wondering what you wanted to say. I don't know if it was about Stroh or just nothin' at all, really. And now I'll never know." She paused and tasted the tears in the back of her throat.

"I remember when you called me after you had your first scare. You made a joke about how all those years working with me didn't kill you but now that I'm not around, this happens. And then you asked me how I was doin'. Because of Stroh. And because of everythin' else. And I told you, "don't worry about me..." – but you did. You were sick and despite all of that, you asked me how I was doin'."

Brenda looked around the now empty church. That was the Sharon she knew. Always caring and worrying about everyone else no matter what was going on in her own life. Even years ago, when Brenda couldn't see it, she had been the one to look out for her even if it came with a consequence for herself.

"Did you ever just wish you could hear someone's voice one last time?" A lone tear slid down Brenda's cheek. "I replayed your voice mails this mornin' before comin' here. Just because..."

The voicemails had been nothing too special. A couple of comments about the case, one about Rusty wanting to meet up for hamburgers… They'd never gotten around to doing that. And now they never would.

Brenda placed her hand on the wooden coffin. It felt cold underneath her fingers and it angered her. Sharon had never been cold. She'd been warm and caring and this coffin was cold and it was all wrong and it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I played those voice mails because I just…" She swallowed the tears back. "I just don't want to forget what your voice sounds like."

"Chief?"

Brenda turned around and found Provenza standing a few steps behind her. If he'd heard what she had said, he didn't show it. His face was a solemn and grey mask of grief and he looked past Brenda at Sharon's coffin. "It's time."

She nodded. "I know."

Provenza sighed as he slowly walked closer, eventually stopping next to Brenda. Brenda thought that he had aged another ten years in the last week or so. He probably wasn't the only one. No doubt they all had.

"I always thought I'd be the one to die before anyone else did." He shook his head. "Always thought I'd be the one to die at my desk."

Brenda looked at him and then looked back at Sharon's coffin, a sad smile breaking through the tears that glistened on her cheeks as she remembered some of the words Sharon had spoken during one of their very first encounters. "She always had to go first."

Provenza gave the former chief a sideways glance and Brenda met his gaze. For the longest of moments they looked at each other and then Brenda slowly turned and walked down the pews towards the church's doors.

As she walked away, Provenza could have sworn he heard her utter under her breath, "Oh, that woman."


	31. (Emily Raydor, 2)

**31\. "One More Chapter"**

Sharon peered around her daughter's bedroom door and found Emily sitting up in bed, her little pink bedside light switched on and her latest library discovery in her lap. At barely nine years old she reminded Sharon so much of her younger self, it was as if she was looking in some kind of reversed mirror. She smiled as she entered the room and sat down next to Emily on the bed. Her daughter moved a little so Sharon could pull her legs up. She wrapped her arm around Emily's shoulder and Sharon sighed contently when Emily rested her head against her.

"What do we have here?" she asked as she picked up the book Emily had chosen. She smiled at the title. "Anne of Green Gables." She turned to look at her daughter. "One of my favourites."

"Really?" Emily's eyes lit up.

Sharon nodded. "I must have read it a dozen times when I was your age."

She turned the first page and the familiar words from the first chapter brought a smile to her face. Slowly and with a steady voice she read page after page as Emily listened to her almost breathlessly. Although she was nine years old and quite capable of reading her own books, Emily enjoyed the evenings where her mother would agree to read to her instead. They had done this ever since Emily was a little girl and it seemed that she wasn't quite ready to give up this little tradition. Sharon didn't mind one bit. She treasured these moments perhaps even more than Emily did.

Sharon had noticed how the nights where Emily would ask her to read to her would almost always coincide with days where she was supposed to see her father but he hadn't shown or where he had shown but had been drunk or in some other way disappointed his children. These days they rarely saw Jack and Sharon in a way was glad of that; it spared both Emily and Ricky a lot of pain. But today had been a day where he had shown up like he said he would. He had given the children expensive toys and had bought Sharon a necklace that looked like it had cost him a month's wage. She knew he had won the money gambling and it seemed the children did too. Emily's toys had been abandoned on the dining table. She had found Ricky's outside his bedroom door. A door that had been closed since before dinner. She knew better than to disturb him. Ricky didn't want her to see him cry, even if he knew she knew, and Sharon respected that.

Jack had left before dinner, announcing to Sharon more than once how he was going to make it big in Atlantic City next weekend. She doubted he would. He rarely did. After losing all their savings years ago, she had cut most ties with him but every so often he would walk back into her life and occasionally she would catch a glimpse of the man he had once been before he became a stranger.

Sharon sighed as she turned another page and felt Emily lean a little heavier against her. She planted a kiss on her daughter's hair in between sentences and turned another page, knowing that the chapter was about to come to an end.

Once the chapter was finished, Sharon went to close the book but Emily put her hand on her mother's arm and looked up to her. "One more chapter?"

Sharon sensed Emily asked this as much for herself as she did for her mother and Sharon flashed a smile. "Yes," she answered and opened the book once again and turning the page to chapter two. She pulled Emily a little closer and listened as down the hall she heard Ricky's bedroom door open. Later, when she came downstairs, he would be waiting for her at the dining table the way he always did. And she would listen to whatever he did or didn't say.

"One more chapter."


End file.
